Beyond Help
by NikaKrae
Summary: A dark story about my rogue Samael Hawke and Dalish pariah Merrill whose lives have intertwined together.
1. Chapter 1

Samael was thinking about his life so far, thoughtlessly ripping the heads off flowers wilting in a blue vase. Who put this crap on his table anyway? Must have been his mother dearest. Since they arrived in Kirkwall, she was nothing more than constant pain in the ass. Samael this, Samael that, your dead mage-sister here, your dead warrior-brother there. Everything that he had done in the past few years was bad in her eyes. It wasn't just because she blamed him for the death of her two children. She acted like she would be happier if it was Samael who was bitten in half by that bloody ogre, not her precious mollycoddled Carver. And Bethany? His mage-sister? Oh, Samael instinctively hated mages since – well, since always. Maybe even feared them, like we fear the unknown, something new, hidden from us. He wouldn't say it out loud but he was quite content with them out of his life; everything was so much easier for him. He would be happier of course if they were alive – but alive someplace else.

He remembered the last time his mother yelled at him – well it wasn't completely unjustified. She had found two elven girls and their elder brother in his bed just a week after Bethany's funeral. She didn't understand that this was his way of dealing with his problems. Not that he would ever admit that he has problems. No, Samael Hawke would never admit that. The day he admitted that he was broken by the way life had treated him, that day he would cut his heart out. Nobody knew that he even refused to look in the mirror – too afraid that he would scream: "What do you want from me, you bloody conscience?"

He suddenly stood up, knocking the chair over, and choking in his own mansion. Dying heads of flowers were lying on the table. They were just like him – beyond help. 

oOo 

Their silent journey up the hill had been interrupted by Varric's quiet mumbling. He stared at his feet cursing Samael for bringing him along. Samael had been watching him with amusement, which made the dwarf even more mad.

"By the Stone, Hawke, stop grinning like this or I swear I will shoot that smirk off your face!"

"Haven't slept well, I take it?" Hawke chuckled. Varric's hand twitched toward Bianca, and Hawke shut up. You never knew with these moody dwarves. After a moment of silence Varric cocked his head and started an inquisition.

"Wait a minute, Rivaini. You're different today and only one thing could make you sneer like that. Who is the new victim?" Isabela grinned knowing her little secret had been uncovered and decided to brazen it out. To Varric's surprise, Samael grinned as well and did a victory gesture with his hands.

"Twice, then she felt asleep because of exhaustion."

"I did not," Isabela yelled in reply, defending her honor. "I just knew where we were going today, and I needed to sleep."

"I bet you did," Varric interrupted her with a cunning laugh. Isabela wanted to add another smart comment, but Hawke stopped the group with a raised hand, another hand ready to unsheathe the dagger on his back.  
>"Do you hear it? I hear something..." Hawke walked cautiously forward.<p>

"I don't hear a thing, Hawke, you should get your ears checked," Varric replied, still laughing. And then they saw her.

A slender elven girl was sitting on a rock looking down at her hands. The light was dancing around those long bony hands. No – it was springing from them. Samael couldn't help himself and stared in fascination at her, and the silence behind him told him that his companions were staring, too. Then he came back to his senses, cleared his throat, and put his usual scoffing mask back on his face.

"Great, another mage in my way. And I'm not allowed to kill it." Yet – a little seductive voice in his head added. Before anyone could say anything, the tiny mage stood up and came to them.

"Hello there, I'm Merrill, which you probably knew already." Silence. Varric raised his eyebrow and poked his finger into Samael's arm.

"This is the moment when you say something like, 'Hi there, I'm Samael and we were sent here by your Keeper to finish our deal with that blasted witch.'

Samael twitched nervously and replied harshly, "Just get us to the shrine, witch, and let us get it over with. Don't try anything, for I will be watching you closely." Merrill looked confused as Isabela stepped in, her voice, surprisingly, almost maternal.

"Don't mind him, Merrill, let's go." She took Merrill's arm and pushed her gently up the hill.

"Did I say something wrong?" Varric and Samael heard her whispering to Isabela.

"C'mon Hawke, be nice, she's just a little girl," Varric murmured, apparently amused by Samael's speechlessness.

Samael didn't remember much of their journey – oh, just a little fact that a dragon swooped upon them, then turned into a freaking witch. He was just glad that they made it back to the Dalish camp. To his disbelief, the Keeper asked him to take the little witch with them. Of course he refused, but his companions stepped in and Varric stopped his yelling with one disapproving gaze.

"Andraste's knicker-weasels Hawke, we just take her to the city alienage."

"Fine," he growled in response storming off.

He didn't go with them, he would rather swallow up his cockochino than go to that lousy hole in Lowtown. He rushed in the Hanged Man as soon as they arrived in Lowtown, not even giving a single glance behind him. Isabela and Varric sighed and continued walking with Merrill.

"What is wrong with you?" was Isabela's first reaction as she sat down next to Hawke.

"And here we go." Varric mumbled under his non-existent beard.

"What is wrong with me? You have to be kidding me!" Hawke yelled in reply.  
>"She's a blood mage, Isabela! I should have stabbed her right there when she opened the way forward with that bloody dagger in her hand! We fulfilled our deal, the biggest dragon I've ever seen fell from the sky and no – that wasn't enough! The Keeper forced us to take her with us – just one more blood mage in this city, no big deal right?"<p>

"Oh shut up you two," Varric slammed three small buckets of ale in front of them. Samael snatched the bucket and drank half of it off aggressively.

"Thanks, Varric, just what I needed" he said penitently. Anders, Aveline and even Sebastian joined them. Samael could finally forget those large doe eyes, the sparkling green stars within them. 

oOo 

After some time of teasing and laughing with his companions, Hawke looked at Sebastian – he was so buttoned-up, drinking slowly, still on his first ale, smiling gently when Aveline shared her stories from Fereldan. Then he looked at Isabela sitting on his lap, biting his ear, chuckling to herself, several empty mugs in front of her. Let the show begin, he thought.

"Our dear Sebastian, you said you once lived just as miserable life as us, this according to your own words – show me what you learned back then? I challenge you, who will insist on consuming less drinks then the rest. You will do whatever the winner asks you to do. And of course pay for all our whiskey," he chuckled. "What say you, your Highness?"

"Hawke, I'd love to oblige, but…" Sebastian had an uncertain beam on his face.

"Oh c'mon, chantry boy," Varric roared. "Hawke is a softie, your victory is a sure thing."

Sebastian looked around, embarrassed, everybody waiting for his reply. He inhaled sharply and nodded. Poor Sebastian.

Twelve mugs later, Sebastian fell off the bench, roaring with laughter at one of Isabela's dirty jokes about a Templar and the Grand Cleric. And then he snored and nothing could awake him. The rest of them burst out laughing, and Varric declared the winner. When Sebastian woke up, the plot was ready. Hawke smiled wickedly at the looks-like-crap-prince.

"Sebastian, go over there and pinch Norah's gorgeous ass." He said it slowly and loudly, enjoying every word. The prince looked at him with horror in his eyes.

"But… H-Hawke, you know, that she has s-slapped everyone who did this nasty thing to her. A true gentleman could never do such a thing to a lady! She will slap m-me!" Sebastian looked completely terrified staring at her and then at Hawke.

"Yeeeah, Sebastian, that's sort of my point." Everybody burst into another salvo of laughing.

Poor Sebastian sighed and stood up to do Hawke's bidding. As he came near Norah he looked desperately one more time at Hawke and the others. They were waiting, their mouths open, ready for another round of laughing. Sebastian sighed deeply and pinched her. She turned around in shock, her hand ready to punish whoever dared to touch her beautiful rear. But. When she saw Sebastian and his unhappy please-forgive-me look she hugged him and pressed her tempting lips on his.

Everybody stared at them in awe, and only Varric dared to comment. "Well – that didn't turn out the way we wanted, eh?" Hawke chuckled and spanked Isabela who was again sitting on his lap.


	2. Chapter 2

Samael was disgruntled as he was leaving Kirkwall that morning, his usual companions have ditched him today and he had no other choice than to do this job alone. Well, he had his mabari puppy with him, but that wasn't very reassuring, since the puppy was only half-trained, wild and as far as Samael could tell, it was very stubborn and defiant. So the puppy was not the best choice for a companion, definitely not the safe one. As he reached the outskirts of Kirkwall, a sudden movement behind him made him jump and turn around, his daggers in ready position.

"By the Stone, Hawke, you're jumpy today. You didn't think I'll let you go on your own to deal with some freak caved up in the woods, did you?" Varric leaned nonchalantly towards the tree, Bianca was straddled across his shoulder.

"You said you had dealings with the Merchant Guild today, dwarf. And besides that, I can handle myself pretty well, so feel free to go frolicking through this lovely forest. I have mother to feed and liquor to buy and whores to pay. What good is one dwarf to me anyway?…" Samael's stance relaxed a bit as he lowered his gorgeous weapons. Varric laughed at Hawke's catty comment and shook his head. The puppy was trying to catch a shiny butterfly and tripped over its own paws.

"I see you have deadly guardian with you. And I'm not here alone." With that comment Hawke jerked his body and turned around and his eyes narrowed as Merrill and Fenris made their appearances.

"Oh Varric, you shouldn't have. Fresh air, radiant sun and fluffy clouds upon my head and a witch to kill. What a lovely day." Hawke stiffened and tightened the grip of his daggers again, his eyes concentrating on her slender figure, waiting for her to move her staff, to give him the reason to get rid of her. He was totally blindsided by that odd feeling in his stomach he experienced every time he saw her.

"I knew I liked you." There was something very similar to a seductive smile on the elf warrior's face when he spoke. Hawke relaxed and started laughing which startled an already very confused Merrill. Varric was not so amused with their ruthless joy, but kept his mouth shut for once.

"So, what's the situation, oh mighty leader of our motley little group?" Varric interrupted their giggles.

"The situation is that I'm gonna kill one obnoxious chatty dwarf if he won't shut up… and one elf as well. Oh I didn't mean you, pretty one" Hawke added, as Fenris turned his face to him with a pouty expression. Varric sighed as they continued down the way to the cave.

Samael kept a rapid pace, and a broody expression on his face. The puppy was sticking with the witch, bouncing around her. She even touched his fur shyly, and it licked her hand in return. It really surprised him, he would like to shoo the dog away from her, but he didn't wish to interact with her or to even be seen looking at her. The city guards outside of the cave pissed him off for making him do their dirty job. He shouldn't be surprised by now that in this miserable city nobody seemed able to untie his boot laces without asking Samael for help.

They continued exploring the stony chambers in silence, looking for the refugee. They haven't encountered anything interesting so far, just a few walking corpses and one small group of smugglers. He made sure he had his puppy in sight all the time and he was pleased when the puppy rather playfully bit one corpse in half. He patted its head lightly in approval when the puppy stood beside him again. Samael looked at Merrill briefly, wondering about her puzzled expression. Nobody would guess she was actually thinking about his gentle, however brief, gesture towards the dog.

As they entered the biggest chamber, they felt immediately the temperature change. The room shifted. In one breathless second they were engirdled by giant spiders.

"Well, aren't you ugly." Samael hissed at the nearest one. Behind them an arcane horror had risen slowly out of nowhere. Samael immediately noticed two revenants standing ominously across the chamber surrounded by a dozen shaking corpses.

"Andraste's tits, I'm too good looking to die so young" Varric mumbled, Bianca already in his hands. Fenris had unsheathed his fine greatsword, a devious grin twisting his face. Merrill's prepared staff was sparkling with electricity, her stance firm, but he saw her frightened eyes staring at the tall demon. He felt the urge to touch her, calm her down. He mentally slapped himself.

"Fenris! I need you to taunt that buffoon in the robes and those revenants. Varric! Find yourself the best spot and cover him." He paused and inhaled sharply.

"Witch. Take care of the spiders. Try not to hit me." Oh he would rather die than to look at her hurt expression when he wasn't able to address her with her name.

They scattered, following his orders. Samael narrowed his eyes when he tried to sneak behind the arcane horror, exploiting its weak spots then stabbing in quick precise staccato. The horror howled and turned its hooded head towards him, raising its hands. Fenris took the chance and cut its head off with one fluid and splendid swing. He grinned at Hawke, his skin glowing with bloodlust.

Varric took down one revenant in the meantime and most of the corpses as well. Fenris scythed mercilessly through the other revenant. Samael turned around and froze as Merrill's melodic voice vibrated in the chamber.

"Vir'a Nath'Aliiiiiiin!" She was glowing with venomous green light while she was ensnaring hideous spiders surrounding her. He was stricken down by her beauty and might. Maker, where did all that power come from? The spiders were fizzling with pain, dying around her, their legs twitching faintly in the air. She was mesmerizing in her anger channeled towards the beasts. Their eyes locked for one agonizing second. Her eyes widened as she screamed at him.

"Hawke! Look out!" He came around, shaking his head, turning. Too late, too slow. The corpse had its filthy dagger only a few inches away. Hawke shifted, trying to dodge the hit, but he was knocked down by familiar silver fur. Puppy attacked the corpse, shredding it madly into twitching pieces of bones and rotting flesh.

The sudden silence in the chamber was ringing in Samael's ears. Puppy sauntered by his side nonchalantly, cocking its head, tongue lolling out. Merrill landed next to him, checking his body anxiously for the wounds. He inhaled sharply as she uncovered his wounded arm. Not a word between them. She placed her hand without hesitation on the wound, his blood coating her fingertips. He shivered under her touch and pushed her roughly away, scared by his quickened heartbeat. Merrill frowned and moved even closer to him then before. She locked her eyes with his and slowly placed her hand onto his thigh. Samael shivered again but to his own surprise he let her hand to linger there. She was so close, her lips trembling, her cheeks flushed. Her hand began to ascend, caressing him, copying his leg, his firm belly, his moving chest. She reached his wound again and he felt the pain was fading and the wound stopped bleeding.

Varric and Fenris rushed to them, interrupting his whirling thoughts. He jerked his arm out of her reach and abruptly stood up. Not looking at her Samael sheathed his daggers.

"We should move on." The quest didn't concern him anymore, he even let Fenris to deal with the unstable mage they found.

When he was lying in his bed in the dark that night the last image in his mind before he drifted away was tiny pale hand placed on his dark rough skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Samael knew he had made a mistake when he entrusted Varric to gather the team for the newest urgent job. He already had three big, heavy pouches stuffed with sovereigns but he would rather be away from his mother whenever possible. She was still angry with him about the elven whores affair, and her constant whining made him sick. So the easiest way to keep himself sane was taking job after job, day after day, no exceptions.

And here he was standing at the meeting place outside of Kirkwall Varric had picked, waiting impatiently for the arrival of the rest of his crew. He had wandered off the road a bit, hidden now from the meeting point, and he sat down to relax under the willow. To his surprise puppy sprawled out next to him, his tail lazily pounding to the grass. It was occupied with an ant crawling on its paw. Samael smiled and closed his eyes, leaning comfortably back towards the tree. Soon he heard familiar voices and he wanted to stand up and join them but he froze instead.

"… you don't mean that, Varric. Why are you defending him? If you didn't drag him there, he wouldn't have even attended his own sister's funeral! And I heard that his brother's death was also his doing. If he wasn't so reckless all the time and took responsibility for…"

"Oh come on, Blondie. You barely know the guy. You can't believe every storyteller you meet, you know." Varric was walking next to Anders, scratching his chest hair thoughtfully. "Believe me."

"I don't think it is your place to judge, Anders. The Maker's ways are mysterious indeed and Hawke obviously does more good than harm. And he has been a good leader so far. I just wish he would come to the Chantry sometimes, to relieve his soul and…" Sebastian´s velvet voice sounded like music although he was giving Anders rather furious look now.

"You can't be serious?" Anders laughed bitterly. "He drinks like a fish, fucks everything willing and swears like a pirate. I specifically don't mention his other self-destructive habits. Where is the space for prayers and contemplation in this mess, your Highness?"

"I think he'll come around and Andraste will guide him to the Chantry. Eventually." Sebastian replied peacefully and sincerely.

"No wonder his own mother hates him and…" Anders was determined to continue this quarrel, but a quiet cold voice interrupted him.

"When I asked you to gather a team, I meant gather a team, Varric. Not a bunch of incompetent fools who will be running away and screaming as soon as we encounter the first carcass."

They all jerked and turned around at once – there he stood, hidden in the shadows, his daggers in his hands, his eyes narrowed and blazing with disapproval. Even the bloody puppy growled. Varric coughed and tried to figure out how much of their conversation Samael had actually heard. Judging by his stance and the pure murder in his eyes, he had heard enough. He looked at the others and they obviously figured out that he had heard everything as well.

"Hawke, put down those daggers and…"

"Shut up, dwarf!" Samael took one step towards Anders. Anders and Sebastian tried to explain, horror in their eyes.

"I didn't mean to…" Anders started. "We were just talking about…" Sebastian opened his mouth at the same time as Anders did.

"SILENCE, ABOMINATION!

Samael took two more slow steps towards Anders, who was now visibly trembling. Ready to appease the wrath burning in him, Samael examined the mage. He couldn't decide where to jab the daggers so it would be both especially painful and effective at the same time. What could he say? Samael was an artist when it came to daggers. Anders was, of course, right about his sibling's death but Maker that hurt when he said it out loud with such a scorn and accusation in his voice. Well – Samael would make him shut up his filthy mageling mouth.

"Calm down, Samael." Merrill, hidden behind Sebastian's broad back stepped in front of Anders and put her little hand on Samael's chest. He hadn't seen her approaching and she hadn't involved herself in the conversation, so her presence was completely unexpected. Varric gasped and tried to save the situation.

"Step back, Daisy! Now! By the Stone, girl! Do you have a death wish or something?"

But to their surprise Samael froze on the spot and looked down at her hand pressed against his heart. Both his daggers were almost touching her, pointing at her neck and belly. Samael slowly realized that and sheathed the weapons in one fluid and nimble movement.

"Let's go." Samael would have happily kicked himself in the gut. What was wrong with him? How could they respect him if he allowed this kind of talk, literally behind his back? Oh, blast it! But it was done now. Everybody has seen him calming down under her touch. This was a disaster. His whiny mother at home seemed like a better choice right now.

Merrill and the mabari moved immediately, following Samael. The rest of them exchanged shocked glances and shrugging followed their broody leader.

Samael was cornered, his right arm was bleeding heavily, deep teeth marks apparent. His back was shredded as one beast had managed to sneak behind him earlier. One quick glance across the cave told him that Sebastian was knocked down and lying in the dirt, one dragonling cheerly chewing on his bow. Varric had apparently ran out of arrows, using Bianca's bayonet now to keep the dragonlings off him. A glowing Anders was rather conspicuous, fighting beside Varric. His mana level must have been very low since he wasn't casting any spell, his motions were slowing down but despise that he managed to punch the nearest beast right in its head with his staff, leaving it unconscious in the dust and dirt. Thank the Maker he left the puppy outside the caves, guarding the camp.

Samael didn't see Merrill at first and his heart skipped a beat. Or two actually. He was desperately trying to keep five dragonlings off him with his one healthy arm, when one sly beast bit through his boot. He felt the teeth sinking into his calf and he cried out in both anger and pain, falling immediately on the ground. Despite the danger, he was amused that the dragonlings looked pleased about the fallen warrior, ready to shred him into pieces and feed themselves. Well, he could imagine a more pleasant way to die then to become a second dinner of some dragon's spawn. But what the hell, right?

Samael's eyes widened as he saw Merrill standing behind his vanquishers. Her clothes were tattered and she was staffless, blood all over her, her dark hair disheveled, her eyes blazing. She had never been more beautiful. He saw a small silver dagger in her right hand and he could swear she blinked at him. Before he could do anything, she dashed the dagger into her left palm with all the power she could muster and the beasts squawked in pain, looking around confused with no clue what was happening. Merrill was now encircled with green and red quivering light, pure energy pulsing around her. She was lifted up a few inches above the ground, her arms stretched gracefully sideways, her eyes closed. Dragonlings were ensnared slowly moving towards the witch, screaming and twitching.

Samael was struck blind as the light around Merrill exploded. He covered his head and curled into himself. He remained in this position even when the battle was apparently over, trying to understand what had happened. She had used blood magic. To save them. To save him. Blood magic. Forbidden magic. He was becoming angry again. As the whirling dust was settling slowly onto the ground, he searched through the dirt, picking up his dagger. He stood and stumbled towards Merrill, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg and arm. He had no idea what he would do when he reached her, but there she was, watching him, blood dripping off her hand.

Samael tossed her against the rocky cliff, his dagger pushing onto her throat hard enough to nick her. Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed himself against her, their noses almost touching each other. He observed her for a while, then hissed. "I warned you, witch. I explicitly told you I'd be watching you. I told you… no blood magic in my presence." They were both breathing heavily, looking into each other's eyes. He expected her to defy him, maybe mock him, but she just stood there. She dropped the dagger down, one big tear sliding down her cheek. That made him even more furious.

"You have to be kidding me, Hawke. The girl saved us and you want to kill her to express our gratitude?" Varric faltered, moving to his side, placing his hand on Samael's shoulder.

"Hawke is right. She's a blood mage in the Maker's eyes. We should kill her…" Sebastian was sitting on the ground, obviously in very bad shape. He was examining the wreck of his bow with utter dismay in his eyes.

"You can't be serious, you petty princelet! She has saved us all! I don't approve of blood magic, you all know that, but I still like my skin!" Anders was examining his scratched staff, stroking and dusting it.

Samael remained in his fighting stance for a while, then he wildly turned, looking for his other dagger. He found it stuck in the dragonling's eye. They were all watching him as he turned to leave the cave. He glanced over his shoulder at them.

"Are you coming or what? We all need to stitch ourselves up before we venture further in." Samael's gaze lingered on Merrill for a while and he felt a thorn of guilt when he saw little pearls of blood on her neck, caused by his dagger.

"Right behind you, Hawke. But don't be surprised if we keep our distance. Right now we are scared shitless of you, you know." Varric followed Hawke warily, caressing Bianca lovingly.

An almost imperceptible smile curled Samael's lips. "Good."

It was the usual Friday night at the Hanged Man. Samael leaned back at his seat as comfortably as possible. Varric put a bucket of the house's best ale in front of him, grinning. "To our fearless leader, the dragonslayer!"

His companions raised their drinks. "And to his minions trying to drive him crazy. And occasionally saving his sorry ass." They all laughed as Samael finished Varric's speech.

Isabela was sitting next to him, fussing over him, biting his ear. For the first time Samael didn't like it. He would liked to punch her and drive her away. But how?

Merrill refused to even look at him, sitting in the middle of Varric and Aveline, staring into her ale. Samael had to slap himself mentally again. This was the night of celebration and victory and they all expected him to entertain them, not to sit there, brooding. After a while the rest started talking, laughing and drinking. Varric, in the meantime, started to write a new story about glorious dragonslayer Sam and his ridiculously awesome and brave dwarven friend. To cheer the atmosphere even more, Isabela challenged Samael to a drinking contest. Samael had to accept to preserve his leader image, but he didn't feel like drinking himself to death today, so after the tenth bucket he belched and granted the victory to Isabela. After she did her little happy dance she smiled at him mischievously. Oh–oh. That can't be good.

"Think carefully, Rivaini, about what you'll order him to do. He might just kill you if he doesn't like it." Varric and Aveline giggled loudly. Sebastian was already asleep, snoring a little.

Isabela pouted her charming lips, her eyes wandering around the smoky room for a while. They ended up on Merrill who was staring at her hands, obviously not paying attention to the rest in the room. Grinning, Samael was waiting for Isabela's proposition, expecting something very, very naughty. Isabela turned back to him with a triumphal expression on her face. Maker, that is not good at all.

"Samael, I want you to cheer this little lady up and kiss her breath away." Everybody started to giggle again, Merrill was looking astonished at Isabela, slowly realizing she was talking about her. Samael remained silent, too shocked to do anything. Of all things, Isabela chose THIS. Damn her! He can't do this! His kiss would surely reveal to her the hidden feelings he had for her. That can't happen. He has to lie himself out of this. Somehow. How? Think, Samael! You have to be cruel, push your ridiculous feelings away, show all of them there's nothing there concerning Merrill. He inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself down. He managed to direct a devious smile at Isabela. They are all waiting for my reaction. So be it.

"Oh Isabela, you wound me! I thought you of all people would know very well that I don't do dogs, sheep and…wait…oh yes… and BLOOD MAGES!" The whole room fell into silence after this statement. Merrill looked at him in disbelief, her eyes full of tears again. She knocked her chair down, running out of the door. Nobody laughed except for Fenris and Isabela - they burst into absolutely dissolute laughter. Anders, Aveline and even Varric were frowning at them.

Aveline snorted loudly. "Get your ass up and go to apologize, Samael. Now." She scolded him like a little boy. "Andraste's tits, Hawke, you know how to kill the fun, don't you?" Varric shifted on his chair, staring at the open door. Anders didn't say anything, but his skin cracked into blue tiny chinks. Sebastian opened one eye to ensure himself that he's not a target of some prank.

Samael saw he had no choice, with that patronizing look Aveline was giving him, so he got up. He wasn't going to apologize of course. He planned to take a leak outside and return inside after couple of minutes. But Aveline knew him and stood up as well. Damn you, mimsy guardswoman! Varric and Isabela stood up too, they obviously didn't want to miss any fun they could get tonight. Samael sighed and walked outside into the chilly night.

He stood awkwardly in her front room. Merrill didn't answer the door so he had let himself in. Well, more like Aveline opened the door and tossed him inside. She was standing across the room, her back turned to Samael, her shoulders twitching mildly.

Samael was absolutely clueless about what he should say or do right then. For a brief moment he wanted to hug her, kiss her, wipe away those tears because he knew that she was crying. He pulled his hand through his hair in desperation.

"Merrill?" His voice was quite and more tender then he intended.

"Go away, Hawke." Samael shivered. Her voice was so… broken. He tried to remember why he came and coughed uneasily.

"Aveline demanded I apologize… so… I am sorry." Long silence. He needed her desperately to say something, but she remained silent and stiff. He was turning away moodily to leave the house, when the reply he craved came.

"No, you're not. You are not sorry. You hate me. I'm a mage. A blood mage. You hate mages. No matter what we do, you will always hate us for what we are." Her bitter words were like daggers into his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to explain himself, but she didn't let him.

"For a year now, I was doing your bidding. Of course you never called me personally, that would be beneath you! When Varric or Aveline called me, I came. When I was told to do something, I did it. I was fighting for you, helping you, caring for you." Merrill's hands started to glow with electricity. "But that wasn't good enough. You've insulted me at every corner we passed by, you've never missed an occasion to remind me you hate me."

The light was pulsing now and it was getting brighter. Samael just stood there, fascinated against his will and better judgement. "But I'm done with you. I can't keep this up. I won't! Now get out of my house. I don't wish to see you ever again!" With these last words Merrill released the electricity flocks and they hit Samael straight in the chest. It lifted him up and he broke down the door as he was flying backwards, landing on the ground outside. His companions stared at him with open mouths, motionless. Samael groaned, chuckling bitterly to himself. He started to dust himself while still lying on his back. Then he noticed his shocked friends. "What? You can't blame me for trying…"


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, look! This one had dice in his pocket and Antivan brandy in the sack! I wish he would have mentioned that before I dispatched him. He was surely the funny one." Isabela was grinning contently and indulged herself with a generous gulp of liquor.

Varric was standing by the black horse, trying to stabilize the lyrium bags on its back. He turned to Isabela who was rifling happily through the dead bodies scattered across the clearing. "Hey! Pass that bottle, Rivaini. I could use some stupefying drink right now. You know – before we all die for messing with the Coterie."

"I swear I heard something like 'I wish to never see you again' last time we met, witch." Samael was leaning toward the old oak, sneering at her and cleaning his fingernails with his dagger. The fresh blood splatters on the weapon didn't bother him, it seemed. The puppy was rolling in the dirt, trying desperately to scratch its back, making funny noises in the process.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Hawke. I'm here because Varric begged me for two hours. He seemed desperate when you told him you intended to ambush the Coterie courier delivering a huge amount of raw lyrium from Orzammar to Kirkwall. I don't blame him, he thought a healer was needed in the group because people don't toy with the Coterie and live, usually. And since Anders is scared shitless of you…" Merrill narrowed her sparkling eyes and clenched her staff tighter. If Samael wasn't such an ignorant ass all the time, he would have noticed he would do better if he stayed away from Merrill today.

"And here I thought your body just requires blood-letting periodically." Samael snapped back at her.

Merrill felt she was absolutely at the end of her patience and loyalty. Her Keeper had taught her well and she was bright and grateful apprentice. She had been a kind and responsible girl once, ready to help anybody who asked. But not anymore. She was banished from her clan for her actions, forced to abandon all she knew, all she loved. Kirkwall was a cold place and she hated her new home in alienage. The only thing that kept her going was her friends.

It was Isabela who comforted her when she felt her life was falling apart. It was Varric who kept an eye on her all the time and provided her safety from Lowtown raider gangs. It was Aveline, who helped her hide herself from Templars and who looked away when she used her blood mage abilities.

And then there was HIM. She was drawn to him unwillingly since she had met him on slopes of the Soundermount. He was rude all the time, a drunk, a womanizer, and she was mad about him. She had tried several times not to come for a job when she was called, but her willpower failed each time and all she could think about was that she will see him again soon.

Nobody had ever hurt her in so many ways as him and she hated him for that and loved him at the same time. Occasionally she was able to peer behind that sardonic and merciless mask he wore, and to her astonishment she found there a broken soul with dreadful past and no future. After a year of this madness, she saw similarities in their lives she wasn't aware of before. They were both driven away from their homes and all the people they loved, all things they had taken for granted were taken away from them. They were tossed into Kirkwall and left there to cope with the reality. The only difference between them was Merill had started to build her new life, made new friends and moved on, but Samael was stuck in the past, and refused to let anyone near him. But now her understanding and patience was at end and she couldn't bear it anymore. She closed her eyes and decided to end it all.

"Isabela, Varric, take that horse and GET OUT." They both glanced at Merrill utterly surprised about the authority and cold in her voice. They haven't seen her this way before. Varric raised an eyebrow at Hawke in a mute question. Samael snickered ominously and waved his hand.

"You've heard the lady. Go. And don't worry, I'll bring her remains to the Hanged Man tonight, so you could patch her up. Oh and take the puppy with you. I don't want him to have some puppy-hood issues caused by what is going to happen here." Samael came unstuck from the tree and stretched his body. Isabela wanted to object, but Varric pushed her down the path to Kirkwall, taking the reins in hand.

Merrill was waiting for them to disappear around the bend of the path. Samael was gaping at her, self-complacent smug on his face, his daggers already en garde.

"Deciding to take vengeance on your provider, are we?" Oh, Samael really shouldn't have said that. He was wallowing in the dirt before he could react, knocked down with the stonefist. He slowly stood up guffawing and groping his chest where the spell hit him. Merrill was standing in her fighting stance fifty feet away from him, panting and fuming. If the silly girl wants to play games with him, she must prepare herself for the consequences.

Samael stalked slowly to her with a teasing grin on his lips, their eyes were locked. When he was close enough, he slowly raised his right hand and playfully prodded at her staff with his dagger. Merrill was already piqued, but this little innocent gesture made her furious. She swung her staff, trying to knock the dagger out of his hand. Samael pulled back a bit and made an unexpected sideswipe. Merrill shifted to dodge it, but she wasn't fast enough. The dagger nicked her arm. She hissed and the pain fueled her next attack. They fought silently, testing each other, estimating their abilities. Merrill was becoming tired, she was no warrior after all. She tried to freeze him, but Samael knew her usual tactics and avoided the frozen place easily, grimacing at her.

"Come on, witch. Even I know you can do better than that." Samael's voice was quiet and deadly menacing now.

She felt another wave of anger flooding her mind and her hands exploded with blinding turquoise flames. The powerful pulse she released sent Samael staggering backwards and his vision was blurry. Merrill utilized this moment to pull back and keep some distance between them. Samael shook his head angrily, trying to regain his balance. He gloated over the fact that Merrill was obviously tiring and trying to magnify the gap between them. His hatred was smoldering inside him, and he was confused by the antagonistic feelings this witch had stirred.

He used his vendetta ability to close the distance between them. He didn't mean to stab her in her heart from behind, just to hurt her severely enough to end this charade. Although he had to admit it was quite tempting to kill her and end this torture. Merrill expected this move, and when Samael reappeared behind her she was ready and punched him with might and main in his belly with her staff. Alright, now she had managed to piss him off utterly. He attacked her ravenously and he wasn't testing her anymore. His lunges were vicious and if he managed to hit her now, it would be probably lethal. His daggers were slicing the air quicker and quicker and Merrill was parrying bravely but she knew she couldn't keep this up much longer. Merrill was sure she was going to die here by his hand and she resolved to get in one last hit, mustering all the courage and strength she had left.

She punched him in his crotch with her staff. Samael clearly wasn't expecting something that simple and yet… effective. He howled and tumbled on the dirt, his daggers lying next to him. He was still wincing in pain when she straddled him, pressing the razor end of her staff onto his neck. Very foolish, Merrill, he said to himself. In one second he flipped her over, jerking her staff out of her hands. He was lying on top of her now and holding her hands above her head with one hand, leaning on his elbow. He placed his other hand around her swanlike neck and squeezed hard. He was determined to finish her off, get her out of his life, out of his thoughts, out of his dreams… he would do anything right now just to end this madness he was experiencing since he met her.

Merrill was surprised she wasn't scared of death. Memories were flashing through her mind while she struggled for a breath. Why was his hand hesitating as it squeezed her throat? This was something he wanted to do from the very beginning, right? And now his desire will be satiated. They stared at each other for a brief moment and she saw his mask was gone. His eyes were filled with harrowing pain and doubts. She saw clearly the struggle he had inside of him.

"Do it."

Merrill managed to let out these two choked words. Samael expected her to beg for her life in tears, not to end it. He was looking at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time. Those two words caught him off guard and broke his mask into irreparable pieces.

Their lips met in one long devastating kiss. Samael knew this was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. To his surprise Merrill kissed him back with the same frustration and despair he was feeling. He was the one who broke the kiss, but he stayed in the same position, looking into her widened eyes. He saw himself in them and the familiar green stars he loved so much.

Merrill slowly regained her senses and with senses came memories full of his insults and resentment. She closed her eyes and released one bright pulse of purple lightning which sent Samael flying backwards off her.

Maker! Did she just electrocute me? Was it that bad? On the other hand, I've had worse reactions to the kiss, I guess.

Samael hit the ground and his breath was knocked out of him. He groaned and tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't listen to this simple command. Merrill closed in and she was standing by Samael's head now. Her expression was indecipherable but her hands were trembling. Samael half expected she came to finish him off and he didn't care, but she remained motionless. He laughed mirthlessly and folded his hands behind his head completely at ease, looking at his tormentor.

"I would consider this a tie, if you don't mind, witch." Samael should really learn when to shut up.

Merrill was obviously thinking the very same thing and stormed out of the clearing.


	5. Chapter 5

So this was it. He survived a lifetime running from the Templars because of his sister and father, he survived the Blight, he survived a dangerous journey to Kirkwall, he survived a tough year among backstabbing bastards in the Red Iron company… only to die in some filthy dark alley somewhere in Lowtown. He could only use the word "somewhere" because he had no idea where he had ended up after being chased by those thugs.

At this point, he had taken down almost thirty of them, but not without a price. He had several surface cuts on his skin and nasty pulsing wound on his belly. Before he had chopped Meeran's stupid head off with one fluid swing of his dagger, the bastard had taken advantage of the fact that Samael was fighting five of his men at once. And here we go—nasty wound, blood slowly but surely oozing out of his body. But he hadn't give up… yet. He did almost give up when another bunch of thugs jumped off the roofs of those ruined houses that surrounded him. Meeran had developed a rather good plan, he must give him that… he almost chuckled about the irony of his life. In one second he was stumbling back to his mansion, well-oiled with the ale of the Hanged Man—in the next second, he was going to die.

Death. He really was going to die here, wasn't he? There was nobody who could save him. Damn, there was nobody who would want to save him, even if he or she could. He chuckled bitterly again as he imagined the perfect epitaph on his grave, but then it hit him. There will be no epitaph and no grave, nobody would ever find him, miss him, remember him. Maybe it was for the best, that his life was ending here. He is tired. He took so many jobs in the last few months, and he was spending his nights drinking and whoring at the Hanged Man. He had a few people around him, but they were with him because of the jobs he assumed, making money for them, not any liking or loyalty. Even his own mother had condemned him, blaming him for every bit of shit flying their way. There is nothing for him here. With this final thought he firmly clasped the hafts of his daggers, ready to meet his destiny, determined to take down as many bastards as possible.

He felt himself growing weak as blood still flowed out of his body. They swooped upon him like ants on ale puddles at the Hanged Man. He dodged the first sword attack on his right, his dagger plunging into a thug's neck with distinct smack. But as his reactions slowed, the other thug's dagger cut deeply into his left arm. He cried out and managed to knock the son of a bitch down and hit his throat with a boot. Another one sneaked behind him and stabbed him viciously in his back while he was parrying yet another attacker.

Samael… the pain piercing him was almost unbearable as he mustered his very last strength. Only pure hatred and willpower allowed him to twin-fang the bastard behind him. Another blade pierced mercilessly into his body, and he felt another epicenter emanating pain. Ha! They would have to do better than that! He fell on his knees, grinning, his eyes flashing with bloodlust and scorn. There was no humanity left inside of him. His daggers fell on the blood-stained ground. A series of pictures were quickly flowing through his mind: he saw Carver and Bethany, he saw their home in Lothering and bright sun shining upon his head. He didn't care that six thugs were right in front of him, ready to finish him off. He slowly closed his eyes, his body tattered, his broken soul fleeing out of him. One little tear made its way through the blood and sweat on his face as he recalled those big doe eyes with the stars in them.

Something was very wrong. Why wasn't he dead yet? Through the blurred veil he saw a little figure behind those bastards. Familiar green light was enveloping its frame, a familiar voice cried out, unleashing great power that hit all the thugs around. He felt warm wave after wave pulsing around him as he finally hit the ground. Somebody turned him on his back after a moment. He hissed in pain and discontent. Who the hell dared to mar his death wish? He was ready to let go, but somebody apparently had a different opinion. Then he saw her. Her eyes dilated with horror as she saw his bloody and shattered body, her slender hands trembling, hesitating, wondering what she should do. Well, he will make it easy for her. He once again mustered what was left of his life essence.

"Did… did you kill them?" His voice sounded peaceful and almost… was loving the right word? Merrill blinked a few times before she answered.

"Yes" was her choked answer. Tears in her eyes. Huh, interesting.

"All of them?"

She couldn't manage to pop out word, so she gave a simple nod. One tear fell down her cheek.

"Good." Hawke was looking at her, smiling vaguely, his breathing shallow and quickened.

"I'll get you to Anders's clinic, Hawke, you'll be just fine," Merrill blurted, trying to sound confident. Hawke just smiled once again and shook his head mildly.

"No, Merrill. You have to let me go. I am… done here." His voice was beginning to fade, his eyes were becoming glassy and veiled. The reflection of a little dagger pulled out of nowhere hit his eyes. He understood and clamped her wrist and shook his head slowly.

"No." Samael gasped. Don't you dare… blood… magic. Just… let me die. Please, let me die."

She shrugged his rough hand off of her. It fell helplessly onto the ground again.

"I won't let you die, Hawke. I can't. I won't allow this... this…I"

"Merrill, don't…"

She shook her head again and in two slow motions she slit both her wrists. Her blood behaved oddly though. It started to climb up her tiny arms. The thin lines were squirming, entwining, glowing with bright red light. A few drops of her blood fell quietly down onto his chest and the intense pain took him by surprise. He arched his back, screaming. It felt much worse then the wounds he had from the fight. He was lying in the flames, his skin burning, his blood boiling. All he wanted was just to pass away, to stop the pain, to end his worthless life. And for now, his wish became true, his screaming died away as he drifted off.

Samael woke up completely disoriented. The night chill made his body numb and unwilling to move. He managed to sit up eventually, staring at his utterly destroyed leather armor. But that wasn't the most puzzling image. His skin was bloody and dirty, but intact, not even scratched or bruised. His hands found the place on his belly where was supposed to be one particularly nasty wound—nothing. Not even a scar. Just the pearls of dried blood. He slowly cocked his head in amazement and then twitched when he remembered what had happened. He turned his head and there she was, lying not so far from him, her arms and face coated in blood. Her blood. Her skin was so pale, so cold when he gathered her in his arms. He gently brought her head up but it fell back onto his shoulder. Her wrists had stopped bleeding already.

"No, no, no, no, please, don't Merrill, please, no, Maker, no. Wake up, Merrill. What… Why… Why would you do this…?" He pressed her desperately to his chest before he lifted her and started running. Maker, she was so ethereal, so fragile.

Anders was enjoying a quiet night at his clinic, reading Varric's latest dirty volume. Hawke broke down the shabby door with his shoulder. Anders jumped up a few inches, grabbing his staff, blue light flashing in his eyes. Then he saw… them. Samael laid Merrill down on the couch, not saying a word. Anders started hastily examining her lifeless body, then sharply exhaled. "What happened to her, Hawke?" Only now he acknowledged Hawke's tattered clothing and the blood all over him. "It's like the life was sucked out of her. She's barely alive! Hawke! Talk to me! What did you do to her?"

Samael just shook his head rather desperately, his eyes locked on her porcelain face. And then he was gone. The demons in his mind consumed him entirely. Everything has darkened.

Varric and Isabela stopped in front of Samael's bedroom. Varric wanted to knock, but Isabela just snorted impatiently and let herself in. Hawke didn't even look up at them. Varric quickly evaluated the situation. Hawke was sitting on the floor in the distant corner, staring in front of him. A blood-stained knife with a shell haft was lying next to him on the ground, yet Varric didn't see any injury on Samael's body. Well… not visible injury. Nobody wanted to talk. After a few minutes, Samael couldn't bear it anymore and broke the silence.

"Is she….?"

"She is alive… at the moment." Varric frowned when he saw tears flowing uncontrollably down Samael's face.

Silence.

"Soooo, what happened Hawke?" Isabela's penetrating voice sliced the silence. Hawke had no idea how to put it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, his jaw clenched.

"Ambush. Red Irons. I was alone. Drunk. I took down half of them. They injured me severely. I was dying. Merrill… she … saved my life. She found me there. I think she used her own life essence to heal me." He gulped loudly, looking almost hysterically at them.

Varric was for once struck speechless. Isabela simply stared at him. After a long silence, Varric tried to lighten the atmosphere, but he just made things worse. Hawke jumped up, pacing around the room like a predator locked in the cage. He slammed his fists into the wall with all his power.

"She had absolutely no right to do that! Not after what I had ever said to her, not after what I had ever done to her!" he was yelling, out of control.

Varric thought he had heard wrong. Was he complaining that he was still alive?

"To do what, Hawke? Save your sorry ass?"

"To sacrifice herself like that when it should be me lying in the gutter! Not her! Not because of me!" Hawke's voice sounded like the howling of an injured beast.

"Not her," he whispered and closed his eyes as his head sank down into his palms.

Varric put his hand on Samael's shoulder and left it there for a moment, then he slowly left the room. Rivaini shrugged her shoulders lightly and walked away as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Norah opened the wooden door and let Varric inside. He looked around swiftly before he ventured in and closed the door behind him. The whores were finishing dressing themselves at the moment – apparently they did it so many times that they made it in a record time now. Varric leaned back towards the door and shook his head.

"Did he pay you yet?" The elven whore gave him a salacious smile and replied.

"Oh, yes. Should we go or do you want us to… felicitate you as well?

Varric crashed the door open. "Get out!"

She snorted and walked away along with the other one. Varric did notice their stiff and a bit ducky pace. He shook his head again, this time with a brief chuckle, and walked over to the bed.

Samael was lying there on the belly, completely naked, drunk and dead to the world. Varric hesitated for a second then he noticed five narrow scars on Samael's left hip. They could be the heritage of many battles Samael had fought in, but they were so… tidy-looking and quite straight. It looked almost like… no, that wasn't possible. Or was it?

Varric's glance ended up on Samael's sleeping face. He felt almost sorry for waking him up, but he flipped him on his back and started paddling his cheeks.

"Mmmnmmnm."

"C'mon, Hawke, look at me." Varric was certainly enjoying himself.

"Hmmm, vrrrrmmm."

"Don't make me tip over that bucket of cold water onto you!" Varric was getting impatient now.

Samael opened one eye, trying to focus on Varric's face. "Bugger off, dwarf."

"Well you can't sleep here. Norah told me to get you out of here. Now! Believe me, you don't want her to be mad at you." Varric abruptly pulled Hawke on his shaky legs, enwraping him in a blanket he brought. Samael was swaying and blinking, trying to find something he could steady himself on.

"Here, let uncle Varric help you." Varric was smirking again, leading him to his room.

"Where are… where are we going? Samael supported by Varric had managed to pull himself through the door.

"To my suite, of course," Varric replied with chuckles.

"So you still insist we call that hovel of yours a suite, huh?" Samael tried to scratch his head and hit the wall.

"If you're gonna act like a jerk, I'll let Norah toss your ungrateful ass on the streets of Lowtown and just for your information – I will take my blanket you are wearing with me. Where is your armor anyway?" Varric managed to lay Hawke down onto the couch.

"Don't know, don't care." Samael mumbled and drifted off. Varric was watching him for a while, then he snuggled him into the blanket. But not before he took a second look at those weird scars. Well, judging by the different coloration and intensity they weren't inflicted at the same time. One of them was fresh. Oh, Varric really loved conundrums.

oOo

They all sat down at their usual table, while Norah was fixing their drinks. Sebastian was absent, occupied with some Chantry business. No jokes tonight, no teasing. Even Isabela was staring in front of her, her face was blank.

Anders couldn't stand the quiet anymore and turned to Samael. "It's all your fault, you know! She wouldn't be lying comatose in a crappy bed in the alienage, if you… if you…" Anders threw his arms sideways in an angry gesture, pacing around.

"Well, finish your intriguing chain of thoughts, mage. If I what…? Managed to beat down the whole Red Iron company? Aveline counted fifty five bodies, mage. Fifty five!

And I don't remember asking her to be there! She wasn't supposed to be there!"

Samael stood up and kicked away the armchair he was sitting in. Varric was expecting this outburst and caught Samael's hand before he could throw a small knife hiding in it onto the mage. As he knew their rogue leader, it was probably coated in a potent poison. Aveline and Fenris were already standing too – Fenris was holding Samael's forearm while Aveline simply placed her hand onto the mage's chest.

But Anders decided to push his luck even further. "Look at him! He doesn't give a shit about her! He doesn't care she might not wake up at all! Because of him!"

"You're not helping, Anders!" Aveline pushed the mage roughly back to his seat. "If I recall well, we have more serious problem about Merrill right now. The Templars were sniffing in the alienage last night and it was just our damn luck they haven't found her there. We need to move her. Tonight." After this statement nobody felt like talking right then. They all knew what harboring a mage, a blood mage in fact, meant. Isabela broke the silence.

"How… How is she anyway?" Isabela's eyes were a bit sleepy and swollen. Anders sighed and covered his face with both hands.

"I examined her body immediately when Hawke brought her to the clinic, but I didn't find any injury. Not even a scratch in fact. All we know is that she used… blood magic… to heal Hawke and she used her own life energy to finish the blood ritual. All we can do now is to wait, keeping her warm and resting."

They'd all been quiet for a few minutes, occasionally sipping their ale. When Samael broke the silence, his voice was soft, but steady.

"I will take her." Nothing have surprised his companions more at that moment than this simple declaration. They were all looking at him, some in disbelief, others with curiosity.

Samael didn't wait for their smart comments, but turned straight to Fenris.

"What are you doing tonight?" Samael smiled at his elven friend, knowing the answer already.

"I was going to continue plundering Danarius's wine cellar, but it can wait I suppose." Fenris stood up and gave Samael a graceful bow. "I am at your disposal."

oOo

Bodahn brought another pile of warm blankets into Samael's bedroom, wondering why Messere Hawke decided to settle that sleeping elven girl down in his own quarters when they had three other guest rooms ready for anyone who might need them. But he knew better than to question his volatile master.

"Anything else, Messere Hawke?" Bodahn quietly addressed Samael with concern.

"Please make sure I have a sufficient stock of logs in here and…. Uh… that would be all for today. Thank you, Bodahn." Samael nodded at the dwarf.

"If you need anything, Messere, please, wake me up and I will take care of it." Bodahn nodded back and left the room, closing the door behind him discreetly.

Samael stared at the engraved door for a while and then sank into the myrtle green armchair in the corner. His eyes were wandering around the room before they landed on the small motionless figure lying in his bed. He had been watching her for half an hour before standing up and trying to revive the lingering fire. He was fighting within himself as he walked slowly over to the bed and glanced at Merrill's dreaming face. He watched the flames dancing on her pale skin and Dalish tattoos. He started moving his hand toward her face, but before he could touch her, he pulled it back and left the room.

oOo

Fenris's imposing weapon was resting on a bench in the Hawke's front room. Even lying there innocently it looked menacing, like a blade that often dealt death, and it was. The elven warrior had set it aside for just a moment to help settle Merrill into the bedroom. Fenris was sheathing his weapon now, ready to leave the mansion and head home, when he heard a floorboard creak behind him. He didn't bother to look to see who was standing there, he knew.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Hawke. Because if you don't… You do realize there's a death sentence for harboring a filthy blood mage? I would hate you if I had to come up with some silly strategy to get you out of Meredith's claws before she cut your reckless head off."

Samael considered these words and looked, almost against his will, upstairs where Merrill was resting. When he turned back, Fenris was watching him. He saw the struggle and doubts in Samael's eyes, but decided to leave him alone.

"Good night, Hawke."

"Good night, Fenris."

oOo

Aveline, Varric and Fenris met at the Chantry square, just under the statue representing cooperation between a mage and a Templar; the opposing stone factions were gathered around a young woman holding her baby. Fenris looked up at the marble mage and reminisced about one night almost a year ago, when Samael and he were stumbling home – dead drunk – from the Hanged Man. Samael insisted he help Fenris home first and Fenris was teaching him three dirty Tevinter ditties in exchange. When they reached the Chantry square, they both looked up at the sculptural group. They glanced at each other and started roaring as the same thought crossed their minds. Hawke then climbed up and using his dagger carved into the Templar's stone calf "Meredith is a hag faced whore."

Squinting to read the new addition, Fenris doubled over in laughter. Samael then moved to the mage, almost falling in his drunken state, barely grabbing a protrusion on the mage's robe to steady himself, called down to his friend, "How shall we improve this one?"

Fenris who had started to happily yodel his favorite song, scratched his head comically and said, "Under this skirt lies the world's smallest penis." 

Samael grinned at him and set to work, concentrating mightily, his tongue protruding from the side of his mouth as he focused, he inscribed the letters deep and large. Of course the guard has soon obliterated the writing, but the scars on the statues were still there and Fenris knew what they had once said.

Fenris shook his head, driving away this vivid memory, looking at his friends. Varric cocked his left eyebrow and blinked, Aveline sighed, and they all moved at once towards Hawke's estate. They hadn't seen him in two weeks, not that they hadn't tried. He was not at home during all that time or when he was, he had forced Bodahn to lie to cover for him.

Varric knocked and wait politely until Bodahn's accommodating face peered at them.

"Greetings Messeres! I'm afraid, my master is not available at this moment and…"

"Good, because we came to talk to you, Bodahn." Aveline interrupted him rudely.

Bodahn sighed and opened the heavy door wide letting them in with a gesture of mute resignation. He settled them down in the dining room, fussing around them, bringing beverages, asking about the weather. Fenris lost his temper and snapped at him.

"Sit, dwarf! We came for answers." Aveline silenced him with raised hand and turned to poor Bodahn.

"We haven't seen your master in two weeks, Bodahn. We need to know, what's going on here. And since he refuses to see us… Well, we just hoped you could enlighten us."

Bodahn sat down heavily next to her and fixed his eyes on his entwined hands.

"Messere Hawke… is going through rough times right now. Since he brought Miss Merrill here it's getting worse and worse. Mistress Amell and my master had terrible fight about the poor girl. Mistress insisted on moving her out of the mansion and master Samael…" Bodahn stopped talking to figure out how to say it in non-vulgar manner. "Well my master told her the girl is staying here and suggested Mistress could move out herself since, and I quote, 'she was itching to do this for God damned two years now' end of quote."

Bodahn looked up at them, sorrow and shame in his eyes.

Varric coughed and it sounded surprisingly like "Samael, you nug-humper." Aveline rolled her eyes and continued her interrogation.

"So what does he do? We know he leaves the house, but we weren't able to follow him. He just melts into shadows and that's it. Hell, I made my guards follow him once, but they reported he had vaporized in a dead end street."

Bodahn shifted on his chair. This dialogue was clearly uncomfortable for him.

"Well, Miss Merrill still lies in the bed unconscious. Master spends every morning in his bedroom with Miss Merrill and reads to her or tells her stories. Then he eats a little and he is off to work by noon. His mabari usually goes along. He comes home in the late evening and retires to his bedroom to see Miss Merrill. I am instructed to deliver dinner for two every day. Around midnight Messere Hawke leaves his bedroom and uses one of the guest rooms to sleep."

If Bodahn had turned into an abomination, they would not have been more stunned than they were on hearing this.

"Samael… reads to her?" Varric's mouth fell open.

"Dinner for two?" Aveline was shaking her head, trying to understand. She looked at Varric. "Do you think… do you think Hawke is… losing it?"

Varric had to laugh at her expression. "Nah, Captain. I am pretty sure, that he's just grieving."

"Grieving? He hasn't grieved for his siblings until now, and now he is? And how is this related to a dinner for two?" Nope, Aveline really wasn't joking. Varric always knew that woman was an invincible battering ram on the battlefield, but when it came to relationships, she was more like a baby bronto.

"Never mind, Captain, I'll explain it to you later when the children are asleep." Varric sighed.

"And how do you know what he's doing inside?" Fenris narrowed his eyes and folded his arms in front of him. "Have you been eavesdropping, dwarf?"

"Well… no! Of course not. I just happened to stand behind his door, that's all." Bodahn twitched and looked positively ashamed.

"And what have you been doing behind that door, hm?" Varric cocked his head, as a light smile curled his lips.

Bodahn sighed. "Eavesdropping."

Aveline snorted impatiently. "What kind of jobs has he taken recently?"

"I don't know, Captain, but he comes home very tired and beaten up usually – I've been patching him up every other evening, in fact.

"That's enough. We'll wait for him here and talk to him." Aveline leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples.

Before they could do something about it, Bodahn were pushing them all out the front door of Samael's estate.

"Messere Hawke ordered me to let nobody in, Messeres, and I am sorry for this, but farewell." With these words Bodahn slammed the door closed. Oh yes. Bodahn knew who his master was and people who dared to defy him had ended up usually dead or wishing they were dead.

oOo

Samael was standing in the dark, waiting for the contact who was supposed to buy his lyrium. Well, in fact the Coterie's lyrium, but first come, first served, right? His young mabari was fidgeting impatiently and he had to admonish it several times. Somebody was coming finally but something felt wrong. He saw a dark shadow slipping onto the roof and voices that were louder and louder. Something went apparently wrong on the smuggler's side.

Four Templars appeared in the street and the fifth one was patrolling on the roof apparently. Samael could simply melt in the shadows and walk away unseen, but lately he was grateful for every chance to kill something, anything, and his survival sense was practically non-existent by now. Merrill still hadn't woken up, and his despair was growing deeper and deeper with every new day.

He stepped forward, his strategy already crystal clear in his head.

"Here you are, smuggler! You're coming with us. All the lyrium you have is hereby confiscated and you'll be judged by the city law of Kirkwall." The Templar finished his unimpressive speech and they were all looking at the silent Samael in anticipation. If they were smarter they would have noticed that Samael was no common smuggler or petty thief.

"So come and take it."

Samael held the package in his left hand, waiting, an innocent expression on his face. The Templars nodded at each other and one of them approached him swiftly and the dance began.

With a precise move, Samael took the knife hidden in his right hand and plunged it into the slot in the helmet as the puppy knocked the nearest two Templars down. Samael looked up, then threw another knife coated in a poison at the Templar archer on the roof at the same time as the Templar he was looking at fired. His knife found its target just at the unprotected part between the templar helmet and the cuirass. An arrow flew into the dark behind him and Samael found himself facing three Templars.

Two of them were apparently young and scared recruits, and Samael intended to leave them as training dummies for his mabari. The Templar hunter was equal to Samael in strength and cunning; Samael knew a fine warrior when he saw one. The Templar leapt forward to test Samael's abilities. Samael remained calm, and for a moment he just dodged the fierce sword attack. When he felt the Templar had grown tired, he made a feint to his left to confuse his rival, then he launched forward, giving his opponent devastating blows, with both daggers sinking into Templar's torso. The puppy managed to kill one recruit in the meantime, and Samael now watched as the puppy was walking around the last one, growling, ready to react to every Templar's move. The young recruit was so preoccupied with the grinning mabari he didn't notice he was the last man standing and Samael was closing in from behind.

Samael wasn't in the mood for playing tonight, so he simply kicked the young recruit down on the ground. The recruit was caught by surprise and fell like a log. Samael promptly kicked the sword out of recruit's feeble hand. The puppy wanted to finish him off, but he gave the command to stop with his hand. He strolled to the panting templar and removed his helmet. He had no idea why he did that. Under the helmet he found a young woman with surprisingly blond long hair looking up at him, her eyes pleading, her lips trembling.

He heard her whispering jerkily, "Maker guides my steps for I am his beloved child. When I descend into the arms of Death I will know I remain at the Maker's side for…"

Samael slowly shook his head, considering letting her live. But she had seen his face already. She would end up running around the Gallows accusing him of murdering her brethren. But she was so young. So innocent. Why was it that everybody around him ended up dead like his siblings did or near death, like the woman he loved the most in his life? Was he condemned to sow death around him, no matter what he did, how he felt about it? When will this end? Would it ever end? How was he supposed to hang in there with all the blood on his hands? A cold hand squeezed his heart and he realized he was just making excuses to let this threat live, and bite him in his ass in the future, no doubt. He knew what had to be done.

With that thought Samael slit her throat without hesitation. He cleaned his weapons diligently, grabbed the lyrium package, and took French leave.


	7. Chapter 7

They cautiously entered the storehouse, allowing their eyes to adjust to the sudden dusty gloom enveloping them. Varric drew forward, trying not to make any noise and peeking around the corner. The puppy was sniffing around enthusiastically. Before Samael could stop him, puppy poked its nosy muzzle into the nearest crate. It was at the bottom of a tall, shaky column of crates, and they came all crashing down.

"So much for our cover." Varric rolled his eyes and balanced Bianca in his hands.

Samael unsheathed his daggers, Isabela followed, and Fenris snorted in disgust.

"Fish, fish, and more fish, ugh! Let us be done with this place."

They heard rough laughing and a woman's voice pleading. As Samael stepped forward, a young woman started to turn herself into an abomination. She burst into flames and laughed ominously. Her voice was twisted with a demonic undertone.

"Demon!" Fenris hissed and launched forward, knocking down the nearest two slavers surrounding the abomination.

"Fenris, wait!" Samael unsuccessfully tried to stop him.

"Bloody elf!" Samael leapt forward as well, challenging the man who had laughed so cruelly before. After a minute the man was crawling on the floor, the bodies of his comrades scattered around.

"So what say you? Feel like talking now?" Samael kicked him in his ribs and the man howled.

"Or do you want me to hand you over to my ex-slave friend, hm? He likes people like you, you know. Actually he eats them for breakfast." Samael grabbed the slaver's neck, forcing the man to look up at him. The poor man's eyes were traveling between Samael's narrowed glare and Fenris' vicious sneer.

"You better be singing soon, birdie. We are looking for this little mage named Feynriel. The trail led us here, so do us a favor and come clean." Varric was bored, and the man's whimpering disgusted him.

"H-He is in the back – along with the...with the others. P-Please. Don't kill me, I have a mother and two s-sisters. Just let me go, p-please. Yes? I swear I…"

Samael interrupted his prattle and pulled him up, leaning him against the wall. Everybody thought he was letting him go, and they started walking away. But Samael was still facing the shaking slaver, and their eyes were locked. He slowly raised his dagger and positioned it precisely against slaver's heart. Isabela wanted to say something, but Varric silenced her with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Oh c'mon Hawke, you proved your point, now let the birdie fly and let's go."

Samael didn't seem to hear him. He cocked his head, a latent smile curling his lips. Then he casually pushed the dagger into the slaver's heart, still searching his now goggly eyes. He ripped the dagger out and strolled out to search for the boy.

"Have I told you today already that this man scares the hell out of me? No?" Varric watched as the slaver's body hit the ground.

Fenris frowned and sheathed his greatsword. "Every slaver has this coming. If Hawke hadn't killed him, I would gladly have remedied that little neglect. You see, I had a very poor breakfast today." Fenris was now giggling, Hawke's words had obviously amused him.

"But that's not my point, you creepy elf. I don't mind that he finished him off. It's the way he did it that disturbs me. Oh, never mind. You're just as twisted as he is. You two should hit the road and walk off into sunset together." Varric followed Hawke, pushing Isabela before him.

oOo

They were all panting and looking around in dismay. Isabela had just cut down the last slaver. She then staggered and fell to the ground. She was exhausted, but not wounded except for a few surface cuts. Samael's shoulder was nicked with an arrow and he had a light burn on his right cheek where a slaver mage's fireball had barely missed. Varric wasn't that lucky. There were still cloudlets of the smoke rising from his clothes and he was pretty burned. Fenris' arm was bleeding severely but he has already bandaged it passably. It wasn't the fight they won or the injuries they had sustained that shocked them though.

They were standing in the cellars where the talkative slaver had sent them. The air was musty and wooden floor creaked under their boots. Many iron cages were scattered along the rough walls, some hanging from the ceiling on thick chains.

Samael's eyes were searching cage after cage, his eyes growing wider with every dead body he spotted. His daggers fell onto the floor with a brazen clank. He raised his hands, clutching his disheveled hair in despair. There were skinny elven children lying next to their mothers, young men once full of life and hope. Not anymore. All of them had their throats cut. Puppy whined and pressed itself onto Samael's thigh.

"Are they…?" Varric was pressing a cloth on his burned shoulder, his eyes wandering around the room and his voice trembling.

Isabela remained on the ground, tears running down her cheeks. "But why? Why would they kill them all? Maybe if we were quicker or stronger or… maybe we could…maybe we should…"

Varric pulled her up onto her unsteady legs, wiping away the tears. He sat her down on the nearest crate and Isabela pointed at his half-burnt chest hair.

"Oh, son of a bitch! Take my eyes, but not the chest hair!" Varric tried to lighten the atmosphere a little bit, and Rivaini managed to smile faintly at him.

"I've heard about this back in Tevinter." Fenris approached them and leaned on the wall. His offhand bandage was already soaked with dark crimson fluid. "They thought we were from some rival slave company, no doubt, trying to steal their cargo. As you can see, they would rather kill everybody than to let that happen." Fenris' eyes were now blazing with hatred and his lyrium tattoos were emanating bright light. Isabela sighed and stood up.

"We should get our asses out of here before the city garrison arrives. I really don't want to be around Aveline when she counts the corpses here.

High-pitched, derisive laughter interrupted her. They all turned around and saw a half-mad chuckling slaver survivor crouching in a corner. Hawke was standing over him with clenched fists, looking like the God of Vengeance.

"No, no… there are no survivors, I've made sure of that, you dirty thieves. You won't get any free flesh to sell and…"

Samael yanked him across the room and landed on top of him beating him blind.

"That's the spirit, Hawke! But maybe if you resist the urge to kill everything around you for once, we could take him to Aveline for questioning. It might be useful. You know – reveal other slavers' nests, save some lives and stuff." Varric held up his palms in an innocent gesture when Samael gave him a snarky glance. Something in their leader's eyes caught his attention. He's losing it, Varric thought in shock.

The slaver started to squirm beneath Samael, chuckling to himself again. Samael wasn't thinking clearly anymore as he spread slaver's arm sideways and pinned them to the wooden floor with his daggers. The surprised slaver howled and arched his back. Samael abruptly stood up, his eyes still looking at the whining slaver. He turned his blank face toward them and hissed so quietly that they barely heard him.

"Get out. Now."

They were staring at him motionless, trying to understand what was the matter.

"I SAID GET OUT!"

As soon as they disappeared, Samael pulled out a knife hidden in his boot and another one hidden under his belt.

"Suit yourself and kill me, bastard. I won't mind, you frog's spawn. Or do you want to play doctor first?" The slaver was obviously an eternal optimist. And he didn't know Hawke.

Samael stretched and sighed.

"Ah, don't you worry. I intend to kill you. Eventually." He approached the slaver and let the demons plaguing his mind loose.

oOo

"I won't listen to this anymore!" Isabela stormed out of the slaver's den, trembling and sobbing.

Varric had his face hidden in one hand, as he sat on a big iron chest. Fenris was pacing in front of him.

For an hour and half intermittent screaming came out of the room they had left. Finally the screaming stopped and Samael, with the puppy, appeared. Samael's hands were coated in fresh blood and he had several blood splatters on his face. He didn't even look at them as he left.

Fenris was determined to go after him, but Varric was able to catch his forearm, and shook his head saying "I wouldn't want to be in his presence right now, if I were you." They both fell silent for a few minutes.

"Hanged Man? Varric asked finally.

"Do you have to ask? What a stupid question." Fenris snorted and they left the storehouse together.


	8. Chapter 8

He wanted to sit, to hold her hand, be gentle, concerned, or at least calm, damn it, but he couldn't. Couldn't settle, couldn't even sit; he had tried and jumped right up to continue his pacing. He had already broken everything breakable in the room and was now kicking the shards and crushing them underfoot.

When he closed his eyes, dead elven faces and slaver mage's mutilated body flooded into his mind immediately. He thought he had gotten used to death lurking after him everywhere he went, but it wasn't true. He hadn't got used to it and he never would. And now he had another much, much more serious problem. That problem was lying in his bed.

Why? Why did he care? A filthy blood mage, as Fenris had said. Why didn't he just turn her in to the Templars? Get his room back. Get his life back. But he couldn't and that made him angrier still. He punched a wall hard enough to put his fist through it and pulled his bruised hand back ruefully, plucking bits of plaster from it. At least that seemed to bring him a bit to his senses and he paused to consider what he should do next.

He turned slowly around, his gaze unwillingly drawn to his dresser. Its door was now channeled with deep scars he had carved there. First with his dagger, then with his bare hands. He knew what was inside it, of course, but was unwilling to acknowledge it even to himself. He felt a raising desire to open that bottom drawer he hadn't opened in two years.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, bending to the low drawer, his hand hovering at the brass pull. He stood that way for some moments, frozen, unable to make the move, then jerked his hand away and turned brusquely, straightening, and stomped to the other side of the room. He laid his forehead against the wall and pounded softly, unwilling to break more plaster.

Two years… two years he had been able to resist. In those two years it had seemed for brief periods that he had friends, people he could trust. Fenris, of course, Varric, Isabela… now he knew it was all a lie. His life was nothing, or less than nothing. An endless round of drinking and whoring and killing with no point to it all and no hope. He wanted to resist, or told himself that he did want to, but his eyes were drawn once again to that scarred compartment and he looked over his shoulder with longing.

He plunged into his memories remembering the day Bethany gave him that blasted thing hidden there to keep it safe. After her death he was determined to lay it into her grave but he kept it instead. He didn't even know why. When his mother asked him about this heirloom of her family, he told her without any hesitation or remorse it got lost along the way to Kirkwall.

He gritted his teeth then let out a mighty howl of anguish, unable to control himself any longer. He heard his puppy downstairs bark in alarm, and was sure poor Bodahn was cowering, but the dwarf was too wise to disturb his master now. He couldn't resist, realized it was pointless to even try any longer. He practically ran across the room and dropped to his knees beside the dresser. His hand shot out, then hesitated again. Knowing that it was silly, but there was no one to observe, he held his one hand with the other, forcing them to pull open the forbidden drawer.

He wouldn't have pulled out that flat packet wrapped in black velvet if he had known how he was mistaken about his solitude. A pair of greenish sparkling eyes had been watching him for some time now.

Merrill stayed silent, disoriented, after she was awakened by this unimaginable noise. She found herself in a gigantic iron bed, covered with cream warm blankets. She had no idea where she was, although she recognized Hawke's strong back, and that was a comfort. Still, she thought it best to just observe, to keep to herself, until she understood what had happened and what was happening now.

Samael held the packet reverently, then slowly undid the black satin ribbon tying it closed. A keepsake, and heirloom, the last things he had of his family, of the happy times in Lothering… a mirror. It was beautifully framed in silver, the style an old one with elaborate twining vines and flowers. Holding it up, he stared at his reflection. When had he gotten so gaunt? So ugly?

The more he thought about those happier times, the darker his thoughts were getting. He couldn't resist imagining how things would have turned out if there were no Blight and no mages in his family. But Samael was no dreamer. He was always the one who held this family together. Hell, he was raised as a protector of this family with all the responsibilities and no real choice about anything. But not anymore. His siblings and father were gone because he had failed in his job and he was stuck with his sour mother in this huge silent mansion. He saw their glum faces reflected in the mirror, accusing him, scolding him.

For two long years he was confident that he was to blame for their deaths, for his mother's discontent, for everything bad that had ever happened to them. But it wasn't true. He looked back into mirror, their faces full of hatred, hissing at him, cursing him. He didn't realize his hand was trembling.

"It wasn't my fault" he whispered. But they weren't listening to him. They never did.

He pulled the mirror closer to his face, looking into it desperately.

"It wasn't my fault" he was pleading with them now, but they didn't seem to hear him.

A huge wave of wrath and misunderstanding hit Samael's mind and his voice didn't sound human anymore when he roared "IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!"

With these words he swung his arm, smashing the mirror into the wall.

oOo

Merrill blinked in alarm, but still didn't call attention to herself. Who was he talking to? Were there demons or ghosts in the room? She extended her battered senses as best as she could, but could detect no one except herself and Samael. She decided to simply say his name to let him know she was awake now, but nothing but a soft moan came from her dried mouth. Samael didn't seem to hear it.

Dropping his head in despair and letting out a sob, he picked up the broken pieces. He laid the twisted frame on the mantle, then carefully placed each sharp fragment within it, stooping again and again until he had gathered them all. He stood back and stared at the splinters; such a perfect metaphor for the shattered pieces of his life.

The pain he was feeling in his soul right now exceeded anything else he had ever felt. Since he had already torn off his armor, he was standing in just his half shredded blood-stained under tunic and dark blue tight britches. Merrill wanted desperately to say something, but before she could, Samael stripped off his tunic, slowly revealing his back. He hesitated before letting it slip out of his hands. He was panting and trembling, as he strolled over to the dresser and pulled a small knife out of the upper drawer.

Samael held it before his eyes now, turning it slowly. This little weapon had only one purpose and he kept it closely guarded. For him it was part of a ritual, a very private ritual. He unlaced his britches and pulled down left side a bit, revealing the row of five scars gracing his hip. They were old and had been reopened many times in the past when it all just became too much for him. His own little private blood magic, he thought with a bitter chuckle, although there was no magic involved, only the physical pain to replace the unbearable emotional anguish.

Merrill gaped at him paralyzed, her eyes were wider than even their usual enormous size as she watched Samael. She had not seen him in anything but armor, certainly had not seen him stripped almost naked as he now was. She sighed a bit at the sight of that broad back, his long black hair hanging down and curling around his shoulder blades. And his strong hands, pulling down his tight britches, exposing a lean hip, the bone prominent and beautiful. All of it so gorgeous that she thought for a moment perhaps she had died after all and this was her reward. She blinked rapidly, unwilling to let her eyes close for more than the briefest moment, afraid that the vision would disappear.

Samael was standing so that Merrill, still silent on the bed, could see what he was doing, but he was not looking at her. He sighed, then moved the knife to the bottom scar. He always started on the bottom, that way the blood did not obscure the other lines. It was important to him that each cut be precise and in exactly the same place as before.

He pressed the blade in and drew it across his flesh, groaning at the release that the pain brought. Yes. Yes, this was what he needed, the only thing that would help, short of a dagger directly to the heart, and, he found, strangely, he was too much of a coward for that. As he drew the blade across the second line, he heard a small sound from the bed and whirled, his eyes wild, the bloody knife held at ready.

oOo

Oh, son of a bitch! So many nights he had counted the cracks on the ceiling, waiting for dawn, waiting to see her again, still asleep in his bed. So many mornings he had spent reading to her, hoping that when he gazed up from the book that she would be smiling at him… And she chose this moment to wake. How much of his outburst she had witnessed anyway? She had seen him at the worst moment of his life. She probably saw the rampaging, when he smashed the mirror and – Maker – she definitely saw his knife and scar episode. His first urge was to simply kill her so nobody would ever know about his little pain issue.

Flashes of their shared moments were squirming in his mind, their eternal bickering, the fights they got into and, oh yes, that unforgettable kiss they had shared. He desperately needed her to say something, anything, to reassure him. If only she would mock him for what she saw, insult him, embellish his secret. He needed her to give him a reason why he should kill her to protect himself. But Merrill just sat there on the bed, watching him. The blankets had slipped down, revealing the white nightgown his mother had loaned her. All right, Samael just stole it from her closet, but that was not the point.

Merrill really thought he would throw that knife at her. His eyes were rabid and he was trembling. The blood was still oozing from the scar he had reopened. The fact that she woke up in his mansion, because now she was sure about where she was, the kiss they shared, the glances he had given her when he thought she couldn't see him… Merrill was tired of them dancing around each other. She wanted to know if there was anything between them, anything behind those insults and smart comments he was hiding behind.

The situation was pretty simple. If he loved her, he would kiss her. If he hated her, he would kill her. And Merrill didn't care that he might chose the second option.

Samael was still staring at her when Merrill swung her feet off the bed and stood up. She swayed a bit, steadying herself on the iron bed frame. She strolled over to him, trying to figure out what she should do. Well, she would probably end up dead in a few seconds, so it didn't really matter what she did now.

She stopped in front of Samael, their eyes locked. She positioned herself against the knife he held. Samael had no idea what was she doing; was she challenging him to kill her? Why? He looked around the destroyed bedroom like the answer was hanging from the ceiling and all he had to do was to read it. His gaze ended up at the shattered mirror and he felt his anguish rising again.

Samael let his arm tail off and he dropped the knife. Merrill mustered her courage and took that one remaining step to close with him, placing her hands on his bare chest carefully. Samael shivered and he swept her hands off him abruptly only to snatch them a second later and place them onto his heart again.

Nothing could prepare her for Samael's reaction. He fell on his knees, slipped his hands roughly around the elf, leaned his lowered head against her abdomen and inhaled deeply of her scent. He knew he was lost. This little witch had defeated him, and he had no reason to hide himself before her anymore. She hugged him rather clumsily and held him tight. She was still weak and dizzy from her long illness, her legs betrayed her and she sank down next to Samael.

Having Merrill so close, realizing her weakness after the long unconsciousness, rather than her soothing, Samael re-awoke his anger at himself, at his situation, and the disaster his life had become. One moment, for that one brief moment he had been content, thinking that he could have someone who cared for him, whom he could trust. But as she leaned against him now, her thin arms embracing him, he felt unworthy of the trust of even a blood mage. There was no reason that she should care for him, it must be a legacy of her illness and weakness. That was it, she was just still weak. As soon as she was better, she would realize her mistake and he would be alone again.

He held her away, then pulled them both up and took her back on the bed. When she was settled, he stomped across the room, his back to her, fingering the pieces of the broken mirror. He couldn't speak, but neither could he leave.

Merrill was confused, and she realized, terrified, but not for herself, that something had happened in those brief moments that Samael had held her. Something like a door opening within him and what she had glimpsed was very beautiful to her indeed, then it was slammed shut. Apparently he had cared for her while she was unconscious, had moved her into his own mansion.

She watched his back, the tension making the muscles bunch and roll. Why did he push her away? Why wasn't he speaking to her? He hadn't killed her. He had held her, and it was intoxicating. How could she get through to him now?

"Samael?" she called in a small voice.

No response.

She did feel weak from her long ordeal—or at least she assumed it was long from how much thinner she had grown—but she gathered what strength she had and called out again.

"Samael! Look at me!"

At least she saw his shoulders hunch further this time. Slowly he turned, his head hanging, his hands loose at his sides. Gritting her teeth, she stood and went to him, determined to stay standing this time, whatever it cost her. When she reached him on teetering legs, she lay a small, cool hand on his cheek and waited for him to look at her.

Samael quivered when he felt her touch and he closed his eyes. Merrill hesitantly touched his chin with her other hand, forcing him gently to look at her. When he did, she saw rising hope and determination in his eyes.

"Merrill… I… need to know." He had no idea, how to ask her this without sounding needy and pathetic. The tingling warm sensation on his left hip ripped him out of his thoughts. He jerked and stepped back, shrugging her arms off of him.

"Please don't heal that" he asked quietly without looking at her. He didn't see Merrill nodded. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but he managed to pop out just one of them.

"Will you stay tonight? Merrill felt how much willpower this simple question had cost him. She didn't answer, taking his hand and leading them to bed.

"I can sleep elsewhere, if you wish." Samael hesitated, standing by the bed now.

No answer again.

Merrill pushed him gently onto the bed, taking off his boots. Samael felt silly, but he let her do that. Merrill then slipped next to him and covered them both with one of those warm blankets. To Samael's surprise she positioned herself casually as close as she could next to him, her arm circling his bare waist, carefully avoiding his wound. Merrill smiled to herself when she felt he circled her hesitantly with his arms as well. It felt so right, so good.

They both drifted off into dreamless sleep.

I've been a good girl recently (really Nika? lying to your readers?), so I've got a writing lesson from my lovely guru.  
>This is a result of her mastery and my endeavour.<p>

Mahalo, Carrie, aloha au ia 'oe.

Enjoy, people!


	9. Chapter 9

Merrill's eyes snapped open and she sat up. The white nightgown was too large for her and a white and bony shoulder peeked out of the fine fabric. She was still in Hawke's bed, but the place next to her was empty. Dawn was sending the first beams of sunlight through the slim gap between the heavy velvet curtains, but most of the bedroom was still drowned in darkness. She looked around, trying to pierce the shadows, desperately searching for him. When she could not find him, she whispered his name, pure panic in her voice.

"I'm here, Merrill."

Merrill flinched and looked in the direction of the husky voice. And there he was, sitting with his legs crossed in an armchair in the darkest corner. Their eyes met and Merrill almost ran to him, shards and splinters crunching under her bare feet. She didn't care that this gesture might looked pathetic, as she sat down on the carpet. Facing him, she pressed herself onto his calf. Samael was leaning comfortably back in the armchair with his right hand supporting his head. His facial expression remained thoughtful and distant, but Merrill's little gesture pleased him deeply.

He had awoken an hour ago and moved to his favorite place. He had to think, and he was watching the sleeping Merrill as he did so. He had cursed himself several times, telling himself not to gaze at her, but his eyes always ended up on that tiny bulge snoring in his bed, despite his best efforts to look elsewhere. Samael carefully considered every moment of last night, examined every detail of their conversation. He had finally made up his mind, but now, when Merrill's sparkling eyes were watching him with expectation, he couldn't even open his mouth.

Samael searched her face, and realized in relief she looked much better then yesterday. He would love to trace her tattoo lines with his finger, but it was important she understand his every word, so he decided not to distract her. Or himself for that matter. He took a deep breath and tried to explain.

"I need you to leave, Merrill."

After this simple statement, Merrill opened her mouth in mute objection, then closed it again as tears filled her eyes. This silent demonstration of her despair almost broke him, but he was determined to see his plan through.

"I want you to understand, Merrill, just hear me out. Please," he continued.

Merrill simply nodded, confirming that she was listening to him, gulping down her tears.

"I need some time to think. We both do. I… I know what happened last night. I know what you've seen. And yet you agreed to stay here for the night. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you stayed, but… You need to leave right now. Tell Bodahn to give you your clothes and your staff. I think it would be better for both of us, if… if we…if you…" Shit, this sounded much better in his mind than when he said it out loud.

Merrill seemed calm now, and he sincerely hoped after couple of days they would talk about this again and decide together what should happen next. He knew he wanted her in his life, needed her in fact. He thought he was giving her a chance to reconsider the whole thing, to shred the bond they seemed to share if she desired to. Merrill stayed silent, and he thought she had understood and that she would grant him, and primarily herself, the time to think.

But Merrill's voice sounded chilly with a bitter undertone when she spoke, standing up with her first word.

"I understand, Samael. I always did. Farewell."

With this short and clear statement she turned around, heading for the door. She barely held her sobs in check, determined not to cry in front of him. She thought… well she didn't know anymore what she thought, but she was convinced Samael and she had intense feelings for each other. Something between love, hate, contempt and passion. She hoped everything from now on would be better and better. By the Dread Wolf, they'd shared one bed last night and the way he was touching her, hugging her… Was it just a cruel pretense? Was she condemned to be just a little toy in his hands?

Aaaaand of course she didn't understand you, Samael. How could she with that ramble you pulled out, you fool? You're such a dumbbell, Samael! he thought to himself. He shouldn't have allowed her to leave the mansion like that. So this was how it felt when your soul was struck down with the fear of losing a beloved creature? Huh, interesting.

Before Merrill managed to open the door, Samael appeared in front of her. He whirled her and slammed her against the door, his mouth covering hers, his tongue demanding access into hers to taste her. This kiss was similar to their first one, but Samael was more tender, yet vigorous at the same time. It was as if he was trying to convince her of something. Well, it wasn't hard to guess of what. He was still half naked and Merrill traced her fingers across his bare chest shyly. She moaned loudly when he clenched her hair, jolting her head back so he could gain access to her slender neck. Merrill hissed in both pain and pleasure when he bit her. It felt like he was marking his property and this sinful thought excited her beyond measure. She felt his hot breath in her left ear and she shivered.

"Foolish witch. You understood nothing." He licked her ear lazily, his exploring hands tracing her figure. Merrill forgot to breathe.

"Next time I ask you for some time to think, I would appreciate it if you just give it to me. Am I clear?" He kissed her hungrily to underline his demand.

Merrill managed to nod, scratching his back with her painted fingernails.

"Answer me." Samael obviously wasn't satisfied with her faint nod of agreement.

"Yes. Yes, I understand." Merrill's words were choked, colored with her lust.

This answer was sufficient for Samael, and he moved to her other ear, nipping gently on his way to it. He brushed his lips against that pointy ear, wishing the moment would never end.

"Leave. Now."

With these words, Samael released her from his arms and turned away from her. He strolled to the windows, peeking out at the dawn, using that small loophole between the velvet curtains. He folded his arms in front of him and hoped she would follow his order, because, damn it, he was just a man. Well, more like an utterly horny assassin standing at the edge of his self control right now.

Merrill stood where he had left her for a while, her trembling hand touching her swollen lips. She glanced one last time at his motionless figure, slowly turned around, opened the door and walked away, leaving the door open behind her.

oOo

Merrill was pacing in her house in the alienage. Ten steps from the front door to opposite wall, five steps to the right through the shabby door, seven steps to her bed, avoid the bedside table, then back to the front door. She was so furious and lost in her thoughts that she hit the table she was supposed to avoid, and that was the last drop into the overfilled bucket containing her thoughts. What did Isabela say when something angered her?

"Oh son of a bitch, sod it all, fuck you, you… you… evil…. Samael Hawke! Merrill blurted, and Isabela would have, without a doubt, wept with delight if she had heard the elf.

It had been a whole week since she had left Hawke's estate. Her friends had stopped by her house one by one to bring her gifts or just to hug her and tell her they were glad she had woken up. Merrill was happy to see them all of course, but the one she longed to see the most remained out of her reach.

She thought about sneaking into his room at night or bumping into him "accidentally" at the market place during those long nights she spent pacing through the house, climbing the walls with anger and lust. But then she remembered who she was. She wasn't some stupid young elven spawn, she was a Dalish pariah, the Keeper's First once. What would her Keeper have said if she knew Merrill was trying to bond her life with a human? And not some decent noble human, but… well… Hawke.

She was staring into the little mirror, but she didn't see herself. She saw him. In these days she saw him everywhere. She touched her lips thoughtlessly, trying to revive the feeling of his lips on hers. Mmmmm, that was it.

Persistent knocking on her door interrupted her fantasy. Aveline demanded her presence at the clearing where she had fought with Samael. Nothing else. Merrill sighed, and grabbing her staff, she walked out of her house.

Samael was hiding from his mother once again. Hiding in his own mansion. He chuckled bitterly to himself. Bodahn, the puppy and even Sandal tried to avoid him lately. Well… since Merrill left. Oh, who he was trying to fool here? He had told her to leave, she hadn't left by choice. That was the stupidest thing he had ever done. Why couldn't he just tell her something like 'stay please and let's have wild sex'? He sighed and kicked the little wooden block in his way. The block that was fixed solidly to the floor. Samael roared in pain. He was skipped on one leg for a while, feeling the ninny, as ever.

After he took revenge on that poor wooden block, plucking it out of the floor with his dagger, he started pacing across the attic again, little clouds of dust squirming around his feet. He felt anxious and angry. And now Varric was nagging him about the Coterie. He had said something about them preparing vengeance for the stolen lyrium, that he wanted to ambush them first, perhaps… Samael really didn't pay attention when the dwarf was praising his own wit and cunning. Maker, when would this madness stop? Well, he did this to himself. And only he could remedy his mistake. He wondered if she had missed him as well. Samael sighed and peered out of a bow window festooned with spider webs.

The sun was sinking below the horizon; it was time for him to get at the meeting place.

When Samael arrived, Varric, Isabela and Aveline were already waiting, chatting quietly.

"Aaaah, here is our dauntless alpha male who couldn't resist the urge to steal from the deadliest company in Kirkwall!" Varric bowed in Samael's direction, a smirk on his face.

"Nobody forced you to assist me, you beardless black-marketeer." Hawke oppugned with a smile curling his lips. They were surprised by his reaction; they haven't seen him smiling for some time now. Like ages actually.

"So is our little ambush party complete? Varric, what's the plan?" Hawke wanted to get straight to the point, but Aveline interrupted him, saying casually

"I asked Merrill to get her ass down here and help us."

Judging by the murderous expression carved on Samael's face, his chipper spirit had just been snuffed. He was not far from another of his psychotic interludes.

"You what?" Hawke asked, deadly serious. Deadly indeed; Captain or no Captain.

Then he remembered they knew nothing about his bond with Merrill. Thoughts were flittering through his mind. So they were about to ambush… the ambush… and the woman he loved would be in the middle of it. This day was just getting better and better. And now here she was, pacing swiftly to them. Samael lowered his head and dimpled against his will.

"By the Dread Wolf! I am not late, am I? What are we going to do here, hm? I mean Aveline didn't specify… I really came as quickly as… I…"

Everybody was staring at her now. Merrill's usual ramble was exquisitely… rambly today. Varric coughed and started painting the scene in vivid colors, outline his plan. Nobody noticed that both Merrill and Samael paid no attention whatsoever.

oOo

Samael started to worry when he saw Aveline was badly hurt and surrounded by almost a whole god damned troop of the Coterie minions. She was the last man standing, usually, but the Coterie recognized her as a Guard Captain, the one who had haunted their business so long, and they wished her out of it.

Samael found himself encircled by four of the Coterie's finest assassins, but he was able to handle himself well. Today he was afraid for somebody else's safety rather than his own. Not that he had dwelled on his own life much before. But then he had met this little witch, and his survival sense raised itself through the ranks ridiculously quickly.

Samael honoured the first foe with his knife into an eye socket and dodged another attacker's axe. He mocked the other two assassins for their unsuccessful attempts to stick him from behind. Oh, yes, Samael was in play mode tonight and nothing could spoil his fun. Nothing until he saw Merrill falling to the ground, knocked down by a thug who materialized from nowhere. Another three men rushed to the place where she had fallen.

Ah well, game over. Damsel in distress.

Samael plunged his daggers into the second thug's abdomen; a very nasty and slow death. After that he crouched and severed the knee ligaments of the third one, sending him down screaming. Samael made a perfect somersault from the position he was in, and stabbed the last one in the heart from behind. Then he remembered the hurt one, whining in the grass now, and casually stomped his throat.

Samael didn't even linger to admire the twin blades mastery he had just performed; he used his invincible vendetta to get straight to the boiling spot where he has seen Merrill last. Several dexterous swings with his blades, a few well-aimed kicks, and then he finally kneeled beside the fidgeting Merrill.

To his eternal relief, she had just had her breath knocked out of her, and had one long shallow wound crossing her left cheek. He narrowed his eyes when he took her head into his palms, examining the injury. This one touch wiped away all his anxiety and fear for her. Merrill closed her eyes when he touched her, the light beam on her face obvious. There was nothing but them at this moment. Samael would love to teach that bastard who had scarred her… never mind. More fighting to do, right?

He helped her up and they both glanced back at battlefield. Isabela was engaged in 'to the death' combat with the Coterie leader, but Samael saw she was toying with him, so he wouldn't be a spoil-sport. On the other hand, the other two companions weren't enjoying themselves that much. Varric was running from a dozen of thugs, yammering

"Leave me aloooone!"

Aveline was no doubt at the end of her strength, and desperately needed help.

Samael looked at Merrill and an utterly crazy and absolutely excellent idea crystalized in his mind. He twitched his head in Aveline's direction and then he drew a trace across his wrist with his finger. Merrill's facial expression was priceless, but she seemed to understand Samael's hint and scuttled away.

Samael had no time to watch her, but judging by the waves of shrieking coming from the place where Aveline was fighting, Merrill had obeyed him and taken care of Aveline's butchers with blood magic. He dispatched Varric's relentless followers and then the battlefield fell into silence. Samael keeled over onto the crimson grass. He was too exhausted to stand. Varric whopped down next to him, humming a quiet melody to Bianca, stroking her. Isabela danced to them, grinning, although her left arm was pierced awfully. So the Coterie leader had some talents after all, Samael thought.

Aveline was semi-sitting in a blood pool as Merrill tried to do her best to heal what she could and ease the pain. It was time for the other half of Samael's plan.

He jumped up, sheathing his daggers, and stalked to them, trying to look furious.

"I warned you, you filthy blood mage. This is the very last time you use this foul magic!" He pushed Merrill up on her legs and jolted her out of the clearing, scolding her and yelling at her. Poor Merrill was utterly confused and opened her mouth in protest.

"But… but you told me…" She stammered, starting puling.

Samael hissed quietly "Shut up," before she ruined it all.

Varric, Aveline and Isabela watched their departure with open mouths. Varric, of course, had known for some time that something was going on with those two crazy kids. Isabela's face got a bit sour with a jealousy, understanding now why Samael had turned down her offers of sex sessions so many times. Only Aveline looked worried. She actually thought Samael intended to hang Merrill on the first tree he encountered. But her injuries seized most of her attention, so she was thinking more about getting to a healer rather than what Samael was doing right then with that poor Dalish girl.

Once they were out of sight the battlefield, Samael encircled Merrill in a surprisingly tender hug and the kiss that followed was completely worth putting up with Samael's boyish ruse. He didn't care that he had just forced Merrill to use blood magic. He didn't care their bond was apparently soaked with the blood – both literally and metaphorically. All that mattered to him was they were alive and they were together.


	10. Chapter 10

Samael and Varric were supporting Aveline, who insisted that she was fine, but judging by her slowing pace and her face twisted with pain, she would have had a huge problem getting to Kirkwall without help. Varric was watching Samael with a knowing jeer on his wide face. The assassin was becoming more and more nervous. Why the hell is he staring at me? Oh, Maker, does he… know? Samael thought to himself. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and snapped at the dwarf, "Any specific reason for that annoying look you're giving me, dwarf? Do I have a blood smear on my nose or something?"

"Oh, you have blood smears all over you every day, so I'm pretty much used to that. I was just wondering something, Hawke. Is she good? Did you let her know who is the 'master of her nest'?" Varric had obviously decided to play his favorite game called 'Who can piss off the mighty Hawke and stay alive?'.

Samael stopped abruptly, gaping at Varric, his temper rising. He had intended to hide his bond to Merrill as long as possible, but Varric obviously knew everything. Blasted meddlesome dwarf!

"What? Who… How… What? She who? Who she? Agrh, just shut up dwarf, you're giving me a headache. I don't know of whom you speak." Samael tried to dismiss the sensitive topic, searching the sky, dusting his armor.

"Of whom I speak? About your mother of course! And about your mansion! You've complained for ages about your mumsie! Of whom did YOU think I spoke?" Now Varric had him precisely at the place he wanted.

Merrill glanced at her secret lover, blushed, smiled shyly, and tried to talk to Isabela, who was still brooding and pouting. Samael attempted to murder Varric with a look, but Varric decided to tempt assassin's fierce temper one more time. "What a lovely… forest. Maybe you should take her to gather some herbs and…"

"Shut your filthy mouth, dwarf, or I'll do it for you!" The dinky goblet of Samael's patience now overflowed, and he held his weapons en garde, pushing Aveline to lean on Varric and free his hands. But Varric had known Samael for over two years, and he started laughing instead of cowering. After a moment everybody was roaring in laughter, and only Aveline's desperate sigh made them continue their journey home.

oOo

They arrived at Anders' clinic to get the Guard Captain stitched into one piece again. Anders was in his usual grumpy mood, and snapped at Samael as he saw them coming in.

"Try not to kill my patients for just looking at you, all right?" Apparently Anders still couldn't forget that teeny tiny incident outside of Kirkwall when Samael had almost killed him for a few harsh remarks about his family.

"Just do your damn job, abomination, and I might decide not to drag you to the Gallows." Samael growled as he gently helped Aveline to sit.

The Guard Captain was very pale by now with her teeth clenched and her forehead sweaty, indicating she was in agonizing pain. Anders flinched at the word "Gallows" and turned to Merrill, his eyes flashing blue.

"And what are YOU doing with him? Haven't you told me you abhor him, hate him and desperately wish you have never met him? And this not even two days ago?

These words left Samael speechless, and his hands fell loose at his sides. She had told that caricature of a mage… she abhorred him? Wishing she had never met him? Just two days ago? Well, good to know.

Merrill wanted to say something, but Samael stormed out of the clinic. She gave Anders a blazing glare that could easily have set him on fire, and ran after Samael, determined to explain. She rushed forward and stopped at the first crossroad, looking around desperately. Unfortunately for her, if Samael wished to be unseen it was impossible to detect him.

"Samael?" Merrill called out in a soft voice filled with despair, trying to figure out which way Samael had gone.

Oh, he heard her just fine, shivering when she cried out his name for the second time, as he closed his eyes. Old demons and doubts were torturing his mind again.

Then he disappeared entirely, leaving her standing there alone.

oOo

Samael was sitting in his favorite armchair in the darkened bedroom, holding a thick book bound in black leather, but he wasn't reading. The storm was rampaging outside, and silver flashes were illuminating the room. Samael adored storms and he would have gone outside to enjoy this one, but he couldn't force himself to do anything right now. The dying flames were writhing in the fireplace and Samael was watching them with an expression that said he felt it was him who was dying.

A quiet triple knock on the door ripped him out of his sullen thoughts. It could only be Bodahn . Sandal must be asleep by now, and his mother was busy ignoring her son and tending to her social life.

"Come in, Bodahn." Samael said, looking at the thunder-bolts crossing the sky.

"If you don't need me, Messere, I would turn in." Bodahn's kind face peered at Samael and he added "Should I revive the fire or at least light the candles, Messere?"

"I like it better this way, Bodahn. Go to sleep. And no visits, am I clear? I'm here for nobody." Samael sighed.

"Understood, Messere. And might I ask – not even for Miss Merrill?" Bodahn was curious.

Samael twitched and glared at him, hating the dwarf for asking this question and even more for mentioning her name. He gulped down a snarky answer, knowing Bodahn didn't do it intentionally and didn't deserve his wrath.

"No," he breathed.

"I bid you a good night then, Messere." Bodahn bowed and closed the door silently, not waiting for an answer; he knew it wouldn't come anyway.

Samael shut the book and let it fall onto the carpet, trying to decide whether to go out for a walk or not, when an unfamiliar noise in the otherwise silent mansion made him jump on his feet. A finely crafted elven blade appeared mysteriously in his right hand. He listened. After a few seconds, he heard distant voices; they were closing in though.

"… I am sorry, Miss, but Messere Hawke is not home and…"

"… don't lie to me, Bodahn, I know he is here! Let me pass!"

"… be reasonable, please. I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave and…"

"I'm warning you, Bodahn, stay out of my way!"

A bright green light flashed through the door slot and Samael heard a squeak and a loud thud, before the bedroom door crashed wide open. Well, he hoped the dwarf was still alive, he had come to quite like him. And the witch dared to come here after what she had said about him? He didn't realize he was quivering with his raising wrath. She would surely come up with some pathetic excuse, hoping he was foolish enough to believe her. Well, that was not going to happen! Maybe he should just… kill her. Remove this disturbing element out of his already fucked up life. Maybe he should…

But there she was, bursting into the bedroom, looking for him. The hall chandelier was illuminating her silhouette, but Samael remained conveniently obscured in the dark corner. He lowered his blade against his will when he saw her. Her hair was ruffled into wet braids and her soaked robes was stuck to her body. The wooden staff was glimmering with electricity. Samael took a deep breath, trying desperately not to stab her right there for her betrayal. Because that how Samael was feeling now. Betrayed, disappointed. Hurt.

Another thunder-bolt cut through the sky and Samael's blade flashed icy in the darkness, revealing him to her. Merrill flinched and turned to him, quickly closing the distance between them. A twinkling blade tickled her under her chin and she stopped at once, trying to read his facial expression, searching for some reaction, anything, everything.

"I don't remember inviting YOU here, witch," the assassin hissed. Samael kicked himself for his weakness, he wanted to remain silent and just cut her down.

"Leave, before I decide to redecorate the walls of this room with your blood." Again, no cutting down the witch. What was wrong with him?

Merrill blinked a few times, realizing he had stopped using her name again. Was it possible that a few words from Anders' loutish mouth ruined everything she had built for so long? Samael had hurt her with those two sentences, but she felt rage rising inside of her as well. HE had told her to leave and HE hadn't contacted her for a week. HE had left her alone with unanswered questions. Creators, only he could drive her crazy like this! Of course she was desperate and angry at him. Of course she said those words to Anders to relieve her frustration and solitude. Merrill decided to tempt her luck and play his game for now.

"No" was her simple answer.

Samael narrowed his eyes. So she came here just to provoke him, right? Right. What else he could expect from a vain witch. There is only one way to settle this.

Merrill tried to lower his blade, touching the ice-cold steel with one finger, but he swung the knife and lifted her chin with it again. That swing left a deep thin cut on her left cheek. Merrill blinked in pain, knowing he did it intentionally; Samael had mastered his blades abilities and his weapons never missed their mark. His eyes were deadly serious, challenging her to do it again, but next time he wouldn't be so nice and would jab the blade into her. Merrill sighed, and tried to explain in her typical way.

"Samael, listen to me, please. I didn't mean it. I mean… I meant it, but I was so stupid back then… that… I didn't mean… what I meant."

"Good touch, witch. Now leave." Samael tightened his grip on the haft but didn't dare to look at her, scared that just her face would ruin the mask he had patched up with such difficulty from the broken pieces.

"Oh, get yourself out of that shell you love so much, Samael! You know as well as I do, we are both hopelessly stuck with each other! I know how you felt that week when we were apart, for I felt the very same way, you ignorant human! But you told me to leave, terrified of the possibility that I would have stayed and tried to make you happy. Apparently you enjoy wallowing in this misery and despair! Do you think I enjoy thinking about you every single minute of every day? I'd love to kick your bumptious ass right now, but I can't, because I lov…"

Samael interrupted her, frightened of what she was about to say. "Are you done yet? Because if not, I might bring myself a bowl of fruit or something."

Merrill dropped her staff and roared, her utter wrath and frustration flooding her mind after this last sardonic comment. She apparently had left her survival sense home at the alienage, because she jerked her head, crept under the blade and slapped him with all her strength. Samael was so surprised he stumbled backwards and, tripping over the carpet hem, landed on his back quite ingloriously. Before he could react, Merrill was on him, beating him blind with her little clenched fists, panting and cursing him. The blade was lying right next to Samael's hand now, but he didn't reach for it.

Maybe Samael needed to get punched, because he was now aware he had overreacted about what Anders had said and that Merrill was right. About everything. His mind was secretly looking for reasons to be mad at her, because of the hold she had over him, because of that frustration he felt when she wasn't near him. She was right when she said they were stuck with each other, unable to break the bond they shared. Did that mean… he loved her? Oh yes, he loved her. He also knew he would never say it out loud and that he would be punished for this weakness eventually.

Merrill didn't calm down. Her eyes were still sparkling with anger. Her hits didn't hurt Samael; more like amused him in fact. When he got bored with being her punching-bag, he simply caught her hands and pulled her down. Their lips crushed together in an ultimate kiss, and Samael felt complete again.

His arms encircled her and squeezed her tightly to remind her he LET her hit him and now was the time for his retribution. But there was no need for that as Samael felt Merrill go blissfully limp in his arms. Hm, that was quick.

Samael managed to rise to his feet without breaking their kiss. Merrill's legs were girdled around his waist now and her hands were snaking around his neck, entwining behind it. He stumbled across the room, kicking the door closed in the process, and crashed into the opposite wall. Merrill groaned and bit his lower lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Samael felt for the very first time in his life he wanted to make love to someone, not just fuck himself into oblivion with the whore twins at the Hanged Man.

He turned around and laid them down on the bed cover, supporting himself on his elbows, pushing a stray wet braid out of her face with one finger. He felt her quivering beneath him, but he didn't know if it was caused by her soaked clothes or the lust reflected in her twinkling eyes. A fleeting thought crossed his mind and he slowly turned her head, revealing her neck. The teeth marks he had left there last time were fading and he kissed them, perversely satisfied she hadn't healed the bruise. She tasted of herbs and the storm still raging outside.

Samael shifted next to her and started unlacing her robes with his nimble fingers. Gods he hated these lacings, buttons, several layers of delicate fabric sewn together into one outfit. He would love to rip it off of her but hey – making love, not mindless shagging, remember? Merrill surprised him with no underwear whatsoever under her robes. He traced a finger between her now revealed breasts and down across her belly, leaving goose bumps along the way.

Merrill pulled him down for another kiss as he traced her figure with one hand, memorizing her fragile curves. Maker, he needed to feed her up a bit, she was so thin and tiny. She plunged her hands into the thick veil of his black hair and it felt just the way she had imagined so many times – heavy, rough, but with supple braids under her exploring fingers. She inhaled deeply of his scent, he smelled of leather and citrus fruit; the thought he might use lime soap amused her. She was becoming impatient, and her desire to feel him inside of her was almost unbearable.

She stood up suddenly and held up a hand, waiting for him to stand as well. Samael was puzzled, but he accepted her mute gesture and pulled himself to his feet. Merrill made a circle around him, examining him closely. Now Samael was utterly confused, not sure what she was up to.

To his surprise Merrill pulled out the dagger hidden under the pillow. How she knew it was there he would never know. She held a dark blue strip of fabric from her outfit in her other hand. She handed him the dagger and got on her tiptoes to tie the fabric around his head, intending to cover his eyes. He caught her hands in alarm, realizing what she was about to do. He had never let anyone do this to him in his entire life. Merrill left her hands in his, enthralling him with a long glare, kissing him softly. They didn't speak a word, but he understood everything she wanted to tell him with the kiss. He relaxed and let her hands go. Merrill tied the fabric tightly and stroked his cheek.

He felt her take the dagger out of his hand and his body tensed. He was so… insecure. So vulnerable. She could do anything to him right now. Merrill didn't move nor speak, and he began to tremble, not knowing what she was doing or what she intended to do with that dagger. When the silence had driven him almost crazy, she slashed the white tunic he was wearing in one fluid movement and stripped it off of him. Samael shuddered and growled blissfully with a pleasure unknown to him until now. He felt the cold touch of the steel on his skin and his fists clenched. Merrill unlaced his britches and rolled them down, pushing him gently out of the fabric circle on the ground. Then she slowly went around him, kissing him here and there, tracing his torso with her cold fingertips. Samael was panting now, trying hard to stay still. Merrill's interlude with the blindfold and weapon had ignited him, pushed him past his limits.

Merrill took him by surprise when she knocked him roughly back onto the bed, landing on top of him. Samael was at the edge of his self-control. He ripped the blindfold off and flipped her beneath him, penetrating her with one violent move. She arched her back and cried out in elven. He began moving inside her, setting a pace that was comfortable for both of them. Merrill's moans were driving him mad, and he had no idea how long they had been merged into one being. It felt like the most natural and pure thing he had ever done.

Samael felt he wouldn't be able to restrain himself much longer, and judging by Merrill's fingernails jabbed into his back, she was near her release as well. They both came with one last powerful thrust, screaming wordlessly, and Samael felt reborn.

oOo

Samael didn't know for how long they lay there, entwined together. When he came back to his senses, he flipped them, so Merrill was resting on top of him now. She fastened herself to Samael's torso, her head falling limply next to his. Samael couldn't resist, and glanced at her peaceful, beautiful face. He saw a light smile curling her lips and the closed eyes with her long lashes. And the cut he had made earlier with his blade.

Merrill slowly opened her sparkling eyes, and Samael averted his gaze, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring at her. The silence was comfortable, there was no need to say anything. Everything worth telling was shown during their lovemaking. Samael thought Merrill has fallen asleep, but then she whispered, "Would you do that?" her voice was husky and… sad.

Samael knew well of what she spoke, but he tried to put off a cruel answer.

"Do what?" He didn't look at her.

Merrill didn't reply, knowing he was trying to avoid the topic; knowing he knew she was waiting for his answer. Samael sighed and traced her newest cut gently.

"Yes. I would do it. It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Merrill. You've sealed your fate. I'll hurt you again in the future. And again. And again. And I won't be sorry about it. But I can't let you go now. You're mine."

Merrill didn't know if this bond was a blessing or a curse, but she felt nothing but pure happiness when he said those words to her.

Samael shifted Merrill so she lay properly in the bed next to him, then reached for his biggest warm blanket and covered them both.

"Sleep, my little pariah." Samael pulled her on his chest, encircling her with his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

Merrill's dream dissolved and she opened her sleepy eyes only to acknowledge it was just early morning. The second thing she noticed, the bed next to her was empty. Elgar'Nan, not this again! Merrill sighed at this thought and looked around the still dusky room. She spotted Samael standing by the window, staring at the sky. The horizon was now colored with dark blue, pink and purple shades. The sun was rising. He was still naked and Merrill couldn't help herself as she stared at his beautifully carved body and the long hair dimly shining in the first shy sunlight.

She swung her feet out of the warm blankets and tried to stand up, but hissed instead and fell back to bed. By the Dread Wolf, the pain! Isabela had told her it would hurt the first time, but this was much worse then the Dalish tattoos, and they hurt like hell. The whole clan had been laughing at her tears of pain back then. She clenched her teeth and stood up carefully.

Samael heard her squirming in the bed and a hissing sound too, but he just assumed she had pulled a muscle or something. After a moment, two cold thin arms encircled his waist from behind. He closed his eyes and a light smile curled his lips. Merrill handed him the blanket and stood in front of him, facing the fabulous scene outside. Samael wrapped them both in the fabric and hugged her slender figure to warm her up a bit.

The silence between them was perfect and the memories of their first lovemaking made him grin and shiver. Wait, Samael was a capable assassin and a feral lover, he didn't swoon or shiver over sentimental thoughts, right? Riiiight. So what was that? He recognized that warm tingling sensation – Merrill was healing something, but it was not him this time. He turned her around abruptly, his eyes confused and concerned.

"Merrill? Are you… hurt? I can tell you're healing yourself." He wanted to ask 'did I hurt you' but he was too anxious he was to blame for the injury.

Merrill looked up at him, alarmed, that he picked up on her little secret, and she let herself get caught in his eyes. In this lightning they were dark amber with reddish highlights glowing like flames. Samael brushed his thumb across her lips to remind her she was supposed to answer the question, not to stare at him in awe. Merrill twitched and averted her gaze, hypnotizing his left nipple now. Samael noticed a flash of shame and shyness in her eyes and figured out quickly what was going on. He remained silent; he had actually no clue what he should say or if he should say anything at all. He lifted her chin, but she refused to look at him, her cheeks flushed.

"Why not just tell me, hm? Merrill glanced at him as he asked this simple question.

"Tell what? Look at that sunrise, ma vhenan. I'm starving, could I get something to eat? Do you think Bodahn is awake and…"

Samael silenced her rambling with a finger across her lips, although he found her restlessness quite amusing. But he wanted an honest answer. Merrill sighed and told his other nipple, "Yes. I was a virgin. And no. I wouldn't have told you even for a hundred of hallas.

Samael smiled at her pouty confession, although he would love to kick himself for his rough outburst last night. But he didn't know. And even if he did… would he have done something different? Yeah, he didn't think so either. He noticed she mentioned Bodahn.

"I assume you let Bodahn live after your impressive intrusion into my estate last night…?" Samael asked, half joking, half serious. Merrill blushed even more and nodded. They glanced at each other then burst into laughter, stumbling back to bed.

Oh yes, it was a fabulous morning indeed.

oOo

Samael couldn't believe his senses. Only a few hours ago everything was… perfect. Merrill, him, the bed, the breakfast in bed, his mother's high-pitched squeal when she learned who is in her son's bedroom… aaaah, bliss.

Now he was standing at this foul-smelling ditch. Aveline was trying to scratch something off of her boot with her sword, then she recognized what it was and snorted in disgust, looking around for something she could clean the sword with. Varric was disarming the traps. They were placed so cleverly they had almost missed them, and the consequences would have been horrific, since the traps would have sprinkled them with a combustible substance and set them on fire. Lovely.

Samael wouldn't admit it, but he was very anxious and distracted. The proof? He had never missed a single trap… until now. Thank the Maker Varric was on the team. Well, she was still his mother, after all, although their relationship had hit the reef long time ago. When Aveline burst into his mansion in the late afternoon, screaming something about a killer, white lilies and his mother, he wasn't interested or concerned. But then he started listening to her and her words upset him deeply, and the trail led them here. Anders was speaking with Merrill in a low voice and Samael frowned when he saw them standing so close to each other. Aveline had brought the mage along with an apologetic expression, saying he knew the Kirkwall sewerage system well. Why wasn't Samael surprised at that?

"All done, Hawke, let's go. The sooner we get out of this rats' den, the better." Varric checked that Bianca was strapped on his back and waved his hands at them comically, like he was expecting applause.

They moved forward cautiously, dealing with occasional spiders, until they reached a huge chamber. The smell was gruesome by now. Samael spotted two rage demons and a bunch of hooded shades surrounded them. They all prepared their weapons, Samael automatically positioning himself in front of Merrill and Aveline was supposed to cover Anders. Varric was mumbling something behind the mages and loading Bianca with arrows.

They were quite a team by now and they'd had dealings with these foul creatures countless times before. Aveline sighed and charged forward, grumbling something about how she was too old for this. Samael chuckled despite the demons closing in as he backstabbed the nearest one. He heard the Captain's war cry in the middle of the Shade's bobble and he leapt there as well so he wouldn't miss all the fun. He could do this asleep. Really.

oOo

Samael cleaned his weapons of the stinking black fluid springing from the demons and turned around to check on his companions. Varric was looking for some usable arrows and Aveline was obviously itching to move on, ready and disciplined as always. Samael's eyes narrowed as his gaze landed on those two… fucking mages. He couldn't find other words.

Anders was holding Merrill's hand, healing a minor wound and obviously enjoying her closeness. He must have told her something damn hilarious, because Merrill replied with a warm smile and mild shake of her head. Merrill glanced at her lover just as Samael was contemplating which knife and which poison to use to teach one bold mage a lesson. Merrill spotted Samael's burning gaze and a wrath emanating from his figure; she yanked her hand out of the healer's and turned around, treading toward her rogue. Anders was gaping in their direction, as Merrill reached Samael and cuddled herself on his chest with an expression of utter devotion and admiration. Samael examined her face and was satisfied with the result. He didn't move his hands, loose at his sides, to touch her, he just hurled a menacing and scornful look at the healer and turned away to keep searching.

Of course everything was observed by a witty dwarf drooling with joy, already writing another dirty volume in his mind. Chapter 23: Marking the Territory. He was once again struck by his own awesomeness. With this satisfying thought, he followed Hawke.

oOo

Samael was standing in front of his mother. Well… in front of what was left of her. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't talk. Apparently he had been in the eye of the hurricane for last few days, thinking he could have a new, better life with Merrill, but now order had been restored and more and more crap was flying his way. He had no energy to laugh at himself and his funky life anymore. He had been rolling in bed with an elven witch instead of protecting the last member of his family besides himself. What was wrong with him? Everything apparently.

His companions were staring in silence as the scene in front of them stupefied them.

Samael turned his gaze to the devil who was to blame for the loss of the last sane piece of Samael's mind, and the arrogant smirk carved on that face awakened Samael in a second.

"YOU! YOU… YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

His feral roar echoed under the perforated dome and that at least woke up his bewildered companions. The necromancer just laughed at them, enveloping himself in the arcane shield, and raised a small army of undead, complete with a few rage demons and a desire demon. The companions closed around Samael, their eyes blinking in horror. Oh yes, they were so screwed. They had never been this outnumbered.

"Maker's Breath…" That was Aveline's gentle evaluation of the situation.

"If we happen to survive this, you'll never see me again!" Anders's panicked voice was colored with Justice's undertones, and he was glowing like a bloody pharos.

"I loved you all. My epitaph is hidden under the mercantile papers. My suite at the Hanged Man. The table under the window. Second upper drawer." Varric added his part, looking around desperately. His only hope was that the skeletons would go after the big ones first.

Merrill tried to take Samael's hand in hers to reassure him that they were all right there beside him ready to fight, but he pushed her away and charged forward, warped with pure grudge and insanity.

oOo

Samael was kneeling in the filth, gathering his mother in his arms. He had a shoulder pierced through. The tip of an arrow coated in a mild poison was still stuck in there. Another wound was on his forehead, tortuous, just at the hairline. The blood made several slim reddish paths down his face. His whole body seemed to be cuts and bloody bruises, since he hadn't cared about anything else but the necromancer during the fight.

Anders was utterly exhausted, but thanks to Aveline hadn't sustained serious injury; just a few bruises and one burn, when a rage demon managed to grab him by his hand. Pale Merrill was panting and moaning on the ground, blood quickly rushing from her body through a grinning stab wound in her belly. Both beaten-up Aveline and limping Varric were trying to help her, and Aveline shot a pissed off glance at Samael; he could have prevented Merrill's injury, but he was so out of his senses, he saw just the necromancer and nothing else. Anders held the necromancer in a crushing prison with one hand. He was trying to open a bottle of lyrium with his other trembling hand, but hadn't succeeded yet.

Samael's mother's eye lids were fluttering and she was clearly trying to say something. Samael was desperately clenching her clothes and hot tears were crossing his face, smearing the blood paths. He was cradling them both gently, trying to convince her not to talk, to calm down, to hang in there until help arrived, to hang in there just a little bit longer. Mistress Amell mustered all the strength she had left and pulled her child's head closer, whispering before dying,

"It is… all… your fault."

They were gathered around the dead mother and her grieving son, gulping down the tears, watching Hawke, who was still holding her, murmuring something indecipherable. Varric and Anders were supporting a barely conscious Merrill and Aveline was pushing her hand to her lips, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

There was pulsing silence for a while, only interrupted by Samael's choked sobs. They all jumped when he literally tossed his mother's corpse away and lunged against the necromancer. The crushing prison drove him back. A helpless cry filled their ears as Samael tried to get through the spell again and again and again. They all shivered for their leader's despair and pain. Merrill tried to stop him, to touch him, but he punched her in the face with blind rage and continued his rampage. Merrill hit the wall and tumbled down, motionless. Varric rushed to her, taking her head into his callous but gentle palms.

Anders and Aveline were trying to stop Samael's madness, but they'd just managed to warp him even more.

"I'm not letting you kill him, Hawke, just to make yourself feel better!" Aveline yelled.

"I need him to confess all the murders he has committed, then he'll go to jail and he'll be judged by the city law of Kirkwall. He WILL be facing the hangman's noose in a few days, Hawke." Aveline was trying really hard to make Samael see the reason and calm down, but he just gave her a disdainful look and attacked her with his daggers.

"DAMN IT, SAMAEL, STOP FIGHTING WITH ME!" Aveline lost her temper but kept hanging on his arm, dodging the weapons, trying to convince him naively of her noble truth.

"Shove your law and your noose up your stiff ass, you Guard spinster!" Samael howled and tried to knock Aveline down. To Aveline's surprise, Anders shared the same opinion as Samael, but of course, Anders didn't try to kill her while convincing her.

"Go to hell, Aveline! That madman just mutilated and killed his mother, Andraste's Great Flaming Ass! He deserves to die by Samael's hand!" Anders screamed at her, but he was trying to restrain Samael as well. The rogue took advantage of their dispute as he managed to kick Aveline off him; she landed on her wounded leg and crumbled, shouting in pain.

Samael turned to Anders and threw him through the shabby wall. His mind wanted just one thing and one thing only and he knew that if he wanted to make that barrier disappear, he had to kill the mage. He kicked the mage in his torso and yanked him back to his feet, slamming him against the wall. In a second, Samael was holding his daggers, determined to jab one of them into Anders' heart and slitting his throat with the other, just to finish the mage off in the fastest possible way. And then – then the murderer was in need of Samael's full attention. But Aveline and Varric were on him, each of them grabbing one of his arms. Varric's distant voice was echoing in his mad mind.

"This is not you, Hawke! This is not you, Samael! Stop it! Let him be! That is not you!"

Samael froze, trying desperately to master his actions and thoughts. He knew he'd lost this fight. They would probably kill him if he tried to finish that worthless mage off now. But this was not over. Samael would have his vengeance, oh yes, he would. He would have the head of that sick mage loon stuffed in a glass jar. But for now, it was Aveline's masterstroke.

Samael stabbed the daggers into the wall at each side of the Anders' head and turned slowly around to face Aveline. He made sure his voice was quiet and deadly serious.

"I will come for him, Guard-Captain. No matter where you stash him, do you hear me?

"I will find him."

"I will kill him."

With these words Samael rushed past them, hitting Aveline's shoulder. He gathered his unconscious woman in his arms, and vanished into the darkness.

oOo

Two hooded figures and the Templar Thrask slipped through a darkened Hightown and stopped before the mansion. A small muscular hand hauled them all in, and the door was closed noiselessly.

To their surprise, they were welcomed by an old dwarf. Before they could look around, the household lord came from the side door. He wore tattered leather armor, had two grave wounds, and all his body was covered with dark dried blood. But he was standing straight and casual like nothing was wrong at all, nodding at Ser Thrask.

"I came as soon as I received your note, Messere Hawke. Since you've spared me the great humiliation of an investigation into my poor daughter's death at that storehouse, I am here to thank you again for your kindness and honor my debt. You asked for our best healers, so here they are, at your disposal. I shall come back for them in two hours. Then we must return to the Gallows, I'm afraid."

Samael said nothing, gracefully bowing his head to Ser Thrask. The Templar saw the healers were sorely needed and the gratitude in Hawke's eyes was more than eloquent; so he bowed back and left the mansion. Samael examined the mages with scorn and doubt in his eyes, but he did desperately need them. He pointed the direction with his hand and led them to Merrill, lying in the biggest guest room to the left. One of the healers wanted to tend to Samael's injuries, but he waved him off impatiently, saying

"Later."

oOo

It has been an hour since the mages had locked themselves in the room, trying their best to heal Merrill's body. Samael paced through the hall for a while, then folded into a leather armchair he had never used before, his sore head in his palms. A soft voice inside his pulsing head told him to stand up and stroll over to the door leading into mother's quarters.

The brass latch creaked and Samael walked in. He hesitated; feeling like an intruder, which was ridiculous, since he owned everything in this cursed mansion. He found himself standing in the middle of a very elegant room furnished with sumptuous items; splendid chandelier, huge mirrors in stylish frames and soft woven carpets. The walls were covered with delicate salmon-colored fabric. Samael was here for the first time, and he hated the room. He was considering smashing the whole chamber into shards when he caught his own reflection in the biggest mirror. He slowly closed the distance between him and the mirror, leaning against it with one palm. He studied his features for a minute, tracing his smooth mirror face with the other hand.

Those words his mother had said before her death… it was the heirloom mirror night over and over again. Was she right? Was it he who had destroyed all the Hawke family members? One by one? He was now all alone. Merrill would doom him for his unforgivable behavior. And he felt this was his last deranged outburst his companions would be able to endure. Well, he wouldn't try to stop her or them from leaving him. He should had known better than to let them into his life in the first place. And now was the time to pay the price; he would end up alone. Samael was frantically searching his face again. His eyes looked so old. So burnt out. He felt dead inside. The only thing he was sure about right now was that the necromancer needed to die by his hand. But it wasn't just the desire for revenge that fueled this thought. So what was it? He glared at himself without moving for long minutes.

Samael's reflection smiled seductively.

'Stop that sulking, you douche. You're giving me a headache. We're free, Samael! What are we going to do about that? Sell the mansion? Move back to Fereldan? Fuck ourselves to death at the Blooming Rose? Hunt down every mage in this Maker abandoned land? Join the Crows? You decide, boy. I'm good to go whenever you are.'

"Oh, I think often about returning to Fereldan, but what is there? I mean, our home no longer exists."

'Start over, my dear rogue, what else. We have money, we have youth and power. If we want something, we just take it. The whole world is waiting for us, nothing is holding us here anymore.'

"How can you say that? What about Merrill? What about my friends and…"

The mirror interrupted him, tittering at his confused face.

'Since when are we a mage lover, you foolish assassin? And since when do we have only one lover at all? It is only a matter of time before the witch turns on us. Perhaps she already has. Or did you forget you hit her, you naughty lad? Hilarious, if you ask me…'

"SHUT UP! I didn't… It wasn't me…I didn't want to, please, I didn't mean to…"

'...oh, you didn't mean to? Like you didn't mean to kill all those poor innocent souls, hm? Is this the moment when I should remind you how we've enjoyed every single kill? You didn't seem distracted to me, with all those corpses piling up along our dark path…'

"Leave me alone! I won't listen to you anymore!"

'Like the corpses of your tyrant father? Fair-haired brother Carver? And what about dear Bethany? Do you insist you weren't relieved when that old sour hag kicked off a few hours ago?'

"I DID NOT KILL THEM! I WAS ALWAYS PROTECTING THEM AND NEVER…"

"You keep telling that to yourself, silly kid, but you bamboozle no one here."

"Merrill…"

'Oh yes, our precious mageling Merrill. We've had our way with her already, so perhaps getting rid of her is in order, hm?'

"How can you say that? I love her!"

'You don't know what love is, you kipper. And neither do I. You were alone and you always would be. Trust me, it is the safest way.'

"Safest way to what? I don't want to be alone anymore? I've been alone all my life! I've had family, but I was alone for everything. They've been using me for God damned 27 years as their shield! Samael, kill that Templar! You know, just to be safe, boy. Samael, kill that thug, he frowned at me. Samael this, Samael that! But now I've started to feel things I wasn't aware even existed before! Why do you want to take all that from me?"

'An assassin has no feelings, you reckless sprig! Have you learned nothing from your father?'

"I have… friends…"

'Ha! Mistake! We HAD friends. Or do you think they would want to see us ever again after what we've done today? Not that I wasn't rolling on the ground with laughter about that.'

"You don't know what it means… to have friends. I can always count on Varric and Isabela. Fenris is like a brother to me. And Aveline…"

'Boooooring! Ou-ou, we could lure that red-head out… somewhere and have fun! I've always wondered if that carpet she has on her head matches her pubes…'

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!

'Oh, that pouty expression doesn't suit you. You're a softie, Samael. That little Dalish bitch unmanned you and you need to patch those pathetic pieces of your pride together again!'

"But…"

'We are alone, Samael. The sooner you face the truth, the better. Now go. Rest. Decide what do you want to do. Don't forget – you are free now.'

"I am free now."

Samael staggered backwards from the mirror and two pairs of solid hands caught him before he collapsed. The blood loss, the emotional exertion, it all had caught up with him.

"Messere Hawke, the mages are asking for you. Miss Merrill is completely healed, a servant girl bathed her and she is resting now." Bodahn and Sandal supported him and mages took him to his bedroom to tend to his injuries. Samael felt depleted and didn't even pay attention to what was going on around him. The dwarves were watching them, as they left the Mistress Amell's quarters.

Sandal plucked Bodahn's sleeve shyly, asking "Is he sick?"

"No, my boy. He's not sick. He's just… sad."


	12. Chapter 12

Samael was bending over Merrill's sleeping figure. She was clean now, her wounds were mended, but that light shadow on her chin wouldn't let him forget his damnable deed.

He would love to linger there, but the longer he watched her, the weaker his determination to leave became. He swept a stray braid of her dark hair out of her face and left his hand there. He traced her tattoos with one quivering finger, trying to memorize even the tiniest detail of her face. She was so… so lovely. So pure. And he so didn't deserve her love. Deep in his mind Samael knew this… whatever this was, it couldn't last long. But what if… no. No. He had to let her go. Samael's life was spinning in a lethal vortex, and Merrill would be drawn into it eventually, and then the darkness that lingered there would devour her. She would be just as corrupt as he. She couldn't share his fate; Samael wasn't about to allow that.

A twig in the fireplace cracked and snapped, sending up a cascade of sparks. Samael twitched, the sound sending him back to reality. He kissed her lightly on her forehead, his face twisted in anguish. He leaned to her ear, whispering,

"Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo, my little pariah. Amin harmuva onalle e' cormamin ar gerich veleth nín. Amin hiraetha, Merrill. Namárië."

With these words, Samael left the room, leaning on the door he had closed behind him. He jabbed his fingernails into the polished wood as if hoping the door would open and she would be standing there. Samael was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. After a moment he turned around and ran up the stairs.

He had only a little time to pack up a small valise, to write a letter, where he intended to leave the mansion to Merrill and Bodahn, and vaporize into darkness. If he was lucky, he would be far away from Kirkwall with the first sunlight. He had no final destination yet, he just had to get out of Kirkwall. But he knew his steps would lead him to Fereldan eventually.

Samael dressed himself in inconspicuous black leather armor, black high boots made of fine drakeskin and matching gloves. His valise was light; he had in it nothing but a warm blanket, several big pouches of gold sovereigns, his lockpicks, poison making set and a broken silver mirror. After a moment of hesitation, he put the small wooden halla Merrill had given him inside, but he felt so silly about this pathetic gesture, he hid that little statuette in the blanket.

Samael hastily opened the upper drawer of the dresser and sheathed a new pair of Coterie shivs he had bought a month ago. He loved his black fox twin blades, but they were stuck in the wall somewhere in the bloody sewers and he had no time nor desire to look for them now. His gaze slipped at the silver knife with shell haft and this item migrated into the sack as well. Then he shrouded himself in a black woolen cloak, putting the hood up and hiding his easily recognizable long thick black hair. He rued that he couldn't do the same with his prominent black facial tattoos, but there was nothing he could do about them.

Samael wandered around his bedroom for one last time, then he snatched the valise and walked away with downcast eyes.

oOo

Merrill's eyes shot wide open and she threw away the blanket. A clouded silhouette without a face speaking elvish about love and forgiveness echoed in her confused mind. The feeling she had was very familiar. Like she knew she had to be somewhere, but she didn't know where nor when.

She swung her bare feet off the bed, looking around the room, trembling despite of purring flames in the fireplace. She only wore Samael's thin black tunic. She recognized Hawke's guest room and was puzzled why she wasn't in his bedroom like last time.

She stood up and strolled to fireplace, surprised that her body felt completely healed. She only had a tender spot on her belly where the rusty knife stabbed her and her chin… her chin…

Samael had hit her.

Merrill collapsed on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, tears filling her big eyes. She coiled up on herself; maybe if she stayed in this position long enough, she would wake up next to Samael again, he would make sweet love to her again, he would… she should… no.

His mother had died in his arms and she expected he was about to kill the murderer. She would gladly help him with that, if he had only asked her. But the whole situation had spun out of control. And he had hit her. With his fist. In her face.

"Surely he didn't mean to, he wasn't himself," the kind part of Merrill's mind said in understanding.

_"That doesn't make it better, you know. He did punch us just like any other enemy. He's just as weak and treacherous as any other human."_ The Dalish pariah peered out of her hiding place.

"Yes, he did hit us but it wasn't like he had planned on doing that. He was in shock, his mother just died in the hands of some crazy mage!" The part of Merrill sitting on a love cloud fought for the happy ending to the last breath.

_"So why isn't he here, if we're so determined to believe he loves us, hm?"_ Pariah smirked, leaving the other part speechless.

Merrill shook her head, confused and scared. What now? He did bring her here and she felt healing magic traces within her, so he still cared about her enough to get her a healer. But still… something was very wrong. He must feel awful about what had happened. So why wasn't he with her now? Apologizing, tending to her, showing her he still cared about her, that it was all a terrible mistake and he regretted his behavior. She didn't even know what had happened to the necromancer.

The wheels in Merrill's head were spinning as she considered a dozen possibilities about what was going on. And then it hit her.

Samael… was going to leave her. Leave Kirkwall. Never to come back. Never to see her again.

He had talked about this possibility several times and he always had a bit dreamy expression when he mentioned Lothering or Fereldan. Now she was able to see the truth. But how could she know if he was leaving without her because he loved her too much to drag her along, or not enough to take her with him? Well, she was not going to allow him to leave just like that. Without any explanation. She would stop him. Oh yes. Even if she had to bind him with blood magic. Of course the image of him knocking her out of his way wouldn't dissipate. But she also knew she would be able to forgive him eventually. She knew him well, she knew why he had done those scars to himself, she had figured out how lonely he had been all his life, knowing only responsibilities, blades, blood and pain. She knew he was… damaged, but she also knew she was too selfish to let him leave her. They had bound themselves to each other, and nobody had the right to break that bond, not even him.

With this final thought Merrill stopped staring into the fire. She stood up and opened the door leading to hall. Only several shortening candles were lighting the huge quiet space, but that worked for Merrill well enough. She mounted the stairs and puffed out with relief when she saw a dim light coming from the gap between the wooden floor and the door leading into Samael's bedroom. She heard a soft rustle inside and a scatty smile curled her lips. But what now? Hm… tricky, very tricky.

The Dalish pariah peeked at Merrill, rolling her eyes. _"Let's think like Samael, silly girl."_

"Right. Of course. Think like Samael. What?"

_"Well we are not sure he's going to leave, are we? So we need to wait."_ Pariah said mischievously.

"Wait. Got it. Should I go back to my room then? It's a bit chilly here, you know."

_"Stupid witch. How we have had survived this long in the city, I will never know. Find the best patrolling spot in the front room, drowned in the darkness. Let's just melt into shadows and observe. If he does show up, you can pull out a pathetic 'don't leave me scene' if you wish. If he doesn't, nobody will know and we can go back to sleep. Got it, or should I write it down for you?"_ Pariah was bored now and observing her long and sharp fingernails.

Merrill frowned after this internal warfare and started to think like Samael.

oOo

Merrill yawned and tried not to think about the heat of the fireplace and cozy bed in her room. She was almost resolved to turn in, when a shadow slipped voicelessly by her. It was most unexpected since she heard nothing before. No door slam, no floor creak, no leather squeak, no nothing. But there he was, dressed for traveling, hooded, with a small valise straddling his shoulder. His cloak was buckled showing two peaks on his back and she was sure he had his daggers sheathed there. And probably a dozen other weapons hidden around his body.

Merrill was getting furious and her eyes narrowed. He really had decided to leave her. Without a word. Just like that. No apology for what he had done. Samael was about to open the heavy double winged door leading outside when she let him know she was there.

"Coward!"

Samael whirled around, he had a long sinuous blade in his right hand; his left hand was in his shroud, holding the haft of another weapon no doubt.

Merrill stayed motionless, but her eyes spluttered with rage, and there was an eternal sorrow in her eyes as well.

Oh, shit and double shit! That woman should really learn when to wake up! Last time she did this, she had witnessed his emotional outburst ended by his impressive knife and cutting stunt. And now this! Samael thought to himself, unable to move, considering his possibilities.

But right after she spoke, he knew he was doomed and his escape plan had failed entirely. She was not going to let him leave. He would never, ever, never admit that, but a part of him was tingling with happiness that she cared enough to stop him. Even after all that he had done to her. But she didn't understand. If she stayed with him, she would end up dead sooner or later, like everybody else around him. She had almost died for him once already, not counting many battles he had dragged her into.

Merrill interrupted his chain of thought when she rushed him, kissing him hungrily, pushing down that damn hood. When she was done with him she threw him back and stepped back herself. Samael was panting and Maker! he was horny. Merrill was watching his upset face and his poor attempt to calm himself down. Only she could knock him of the balance like that. She saw a mild grin no his face and knew she had won. She felt like teasing him a bit though.

"Don't you dare think I forgive you that punch, you silly assassin."

It worked, since Samael's face darkened immediately. He closed his eyes and lowered his head in guilt. This reaction told Merrill how gravely he regretted his mad deed, and that was enough for now. He had told her he wouldn't apologize for anything and she accepted that, but this mute gesture was more than any long and voluble apology.

"But I might be persuaded to do so in the future." Merrill added, half smiling at him.

Samael didn't smile back. He saw the pain he had caused in her eyes and he started pacing through the room, running his gloved hands through his hair.

"You don't understand, Merrill! I have to go. I have to leave this place. And you can't go with me. Nobody can. I've pushed all my companions beyond the bearable point, including you. If I stay here, I would doom us all eventually. And I would have to come for that bastard into the Gallows and finish him off no matter the cost. It would be a suicidal mission, and nobody can predict how it would end. And I certainly wouldn't allow you to…"

"Oh, stop telling me, what I am supposed to think or feel or do, you arrogant human! You are NOT alone in everything now. Don't you ever forget that." Merrill was now pacing as well and her words were filled with wrath and uneasiness. But Merrill wasn't done yet.

"Oh yes, I know, poor Samael had a difficult life and the simplest thing to do is to run, right? Well, surprise, you egoistic rogue, you are not the only one with a crappy life! Now go upstairs and unpack that ridiculous valise of yours and… and…" Merrill' distraught voice cracked and a single silver tear fell down her cheek. She swept it straight away.

Samael watched her for a minute, his eyebrow was warping and his hands were trembling in internal struggle. The valise hit the parquetry with a gassy thud. He closed the distance between them and gathered her in his arms. He held her tight for a long time, and their kiss sealed their reunion. Merrill threw in one last comment; she just couldn't resist.

"…and if you ever try to run away from me without a single word again, I swear, I will kill you."

All right, that sounded more menacing than she intended, but Samael grinned; he had no problem with her statement.

"You would be welcome to try, witch."

He swept her off her feet and headed for the bedroom.

oOo

"Are you sure about this?" Samael was watching Merrill with badly hidden disquiet.

They've been making love for the rest of the night and the dawn was near, sending a dim purple light into the bedroom. Samael tried hard to be a tender lover this time, but Gods, that woman was wild and insatiable! The feathers from ripped pillows were sprawling all around the bedroom and all the things from the top of the dresser were swept away on the carpet to make some… space, when the bed wasn't sufficient anymore.

"Samael, I need to be able to find you if something goes wrong at the Gallows and my blood is essential for our plan as well, so yes, I'm sure about this."

The assassin didn't reply, he just sighed and stood in front of Merrill who was sitting on the bed with crossed legs. He pulled down the left side of his loose white britches. Merrill hesitated for a second, wondering, why he insisted on drawing blood from one of his scars. He wasn't furious or desperate, was he? Samael seemed to understand her reluctance and said softly, "You can heal that afterwards, if you wish."

Merrill nodded in relief, then pulled out a small blade from the bedside table and glanced up at him once again, simpering. She prepared a vial and drew the knife across the second scar from the bottom. Samael's head slumped over and he let out a dark growl, half pain, half pleasure.

Merrill noticed he was hard again and felt her desire rising as well, but she slapped herself mentally; there was work to be done now.

Merrill filled the vial with the dark crimson fluid and placed her left hand onto the scar to heal the wound. She let her other hand travel across the assassin's abdomen, pawing him shamelessly. Samael awoke from his sweet inebriety and sank down next to Merrill, handing her the other vial. He assumed she would fill it on her own with her blood, having enough experience of this during her blood magic rituals. But to his surprise Merrill drew apart the silk bathrobe and lay down, handing him the blade. Samael caught her wicked, yet a bit coy smile.

Maker, were all virgins so horny all the time? Of course they were.

Samael examined her creamy skin and slender curves, forgetting about the task ahead. Hmm, the little witch wanted to play dangerous games again. Who was he to deny such an incendiary request?

Samael lay down next to her, supporting himself on an elbow, and drew the hilt of the blade across her belly, climbing to her neck. He flipped the blade imperceptibly in his hand and Merrill felt the cold touch of steel on her neck. Samael noticed her quickened breathing and the neck artery pulsed beneath the sharp blade seductively. He let the blade slide down a bit, stopping at her left breast. He tasted her pink nipple and cut the blade through her skin at the same time. Merrill cried out and clenched his hair with both hands. The sensation was… bewildering. It represented their whole bond; a passion, a pain, despair and pleasure.

Samael licked her lips softly, kissing her and Merrill could taste a faint tang of her blood on his tongue. The vial was full and Samael whispered

"Heal that."

"No" was her shy reply.

Samael was stunned by her quick statement, trying to figure out, why would she want another scar on her body inflicted by him. He cocked his head and looked puzzled. Merrill felt obligated to explain,

"I want… I need something of yours with me. On me. I mean…" Merrill's voice faded.

Samael raised an eyebrow, trying to understand her need. Then it came to him. He couldn't resist taking that silly wooden statuette with him either, when he thought he was leaving Kirkwall for good. But this was… just bad.

"Heal that and I might consider presenting you with a gift, my little pariah."

Samael kissed her fingers and placed them on the wound. The blood was still oozing out of it, staining the bathrobe and dripping on the white rumpled sheets.

Merrill watched him with her lucid wide eyes, considering his unexpected offer and searching his eyes which were blazing in amber shades. She didn't reply, but after a minute her hand sparkled and the wound was slowly mended.

A roguish grin twisted Samael's lips, and he let his hands to play with her body again. Oh no, the game wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.


	13. Chapter 13

"Wait! Wait for me! Mother told you to look after me! I heard her." A little girl with dark hair was trying to reach her two brothers who were running towards the trees.

"Go back to mother's skirt then and don't bother us, sis! Besides, you're too little to climb trees," Samael yelled at her as he crashed into his younger brother, trying to knock him down and be the first to the trees.

Bethany managed to take her twin down and they were wallowing in the high grass. Samael was standing above them, giggling, trying to guess who would win the dispute.

Bethany's hands were icy and pale now, and Carver knew what was going on.

"Hey, father said you can't use magic in public, Bethany!" His high-pitched whiny voice echoed around.

"And who would tell him? You wouldn't dare, you fink! Bethany flipped her brother on his back, tickling him. "Who is the little one now, Samael?"

Samael reached for his sister, still chuckling, and pulled her off of the defeated and ashamed Carver. The children had no idea they were, as always, watched by their parents. Leandra was shadowing her eyes against the summer sun and a broad smile was on her face as she observed her offspring. Oh, she was proud of them all. They had come here only two months ago and she was tiring of constant hiding and running, glad to settle down. The village was small and peaceful; an ideal place for an apostate family like hers.

Leandra didn't notice her husband until he encircled her in his arms and kissed her cheek.

"Scampering on the meadow like runaway horses again?" Malcolm glanced at the playing children. "Samael needs to get another lesson in poisons today, and I managed to convince the local fencing master to come over every morning and teach him dual blade fighting instead of me. I've already taught him everything I know and it was just basics…"

Leandra froze, then turned slowly to her husband. "Malcolm… he is just ten. Couldn't this wait for a few years at least? He's just a child, Malcolm, and what if…"

Malcolm interrupted her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Dear, I know you love him, he's your first born, but he needs to learn everything that might be useful in the future. The sooner, the better. And if that means I have to drag him into the basement every day and teach him myself, I will."

Leandra frowned. "He is OUR first born and I think you burden him much more than you are supposed to. He should be playing with his siblings, going to Chantry to learn with other children and certainly…"

"I won't be around forever, Leandra! This boy could be the only thing standing between you, Carver and Bethany, and the Templars if something should happen to me. He is supposed to take my place and protect this family, and if that means I have to plague his childhood with poisons, weapons and blood, I will do it." Malcolm's auburn eyes were blazing now.

Leandra stared at him, realizing that he was right, but she just couldn't agree with her husband. Her eyes found her eldest son, and it was a gaze full of sorrow and fear for his future. Leandra shook her head and walked away. Before she entered the house she heard Malcolm's yelling

"Samael! Come here, my son. We have work to do."

The boy shuffled to his father, looking across his shoulder at his jangling siblings.

"Just… not yet, father. I want to play now." The boy lowered his head, his long thick black hair, tangled in braids, fell onto his face, but his voice was trenchant.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at the boy's defiant reply, and gestured towards the house with authority. Samael knew better than to resist his father's will, although he would love to turn around and continue playing with his siblings. But last time he did that, the consequences were… gruesome. So he kicked a little pebble instead, and crept inside.

oOo

"Well done, my boy, we have a fresh arcane poison here." Malcolm whirled the fluid in the vial, examining it closely. "The coloring is good, the smell is right. It's very powerful substance and you shouldn't use it lightly, remember that."

Samael was a bit bored by now and still irritated about the interrupted game. He was a bright lad with many talents, but also very disobedient and hot-tempered. But he rarely got father's approval, so he felt pleased as well. He wandered around their dusty basement, filled with weapons, fencing equipment, vials of poisons and potions and ingredients stuffed in bags along the walls.

A small, finely crafted crystal flacon with golden fluid caught his attention. He glanced at his father who was still preoccupied with the poison and despite the fact that Samael wasn't supposed to touch anything down here without father's permission, he took the vial and turned it in front of his eyes as he examined it.

His research was interrupted by his father, who ripped the flacon out of boy's hands so briskly it sent the boy staggering backwards. Samael frowned and clenched his boyish fists.

"Countless times, boy! I've told you countless times, don't touch anything down here unless I'm around." The boy was stunned by his father's furious outburst over a little vial. His temper erupted, and he snapped back at Malcolm.

"But you were around! And I'm not as stupid as you all think. I wouldn't open it or something, father… I…"

Malcolm knew his son was volatile and wild, but not reckless, so he passed over the cheeky comment in silence. He held the vial in reverence and shook his head.

"This is the most potent, most dangerous and most utterly lethal of poisons, my son. It's called the Belial's Breath. Old scholars claim it came from Seheron. Tevinter mages have declared in the past this poison is their heritage of the Old Empire. But we all know the Tevinters pronounce that they have possession of the farts of the Maker himself as well, right?"

Samael's lips were curled with a mild smile and he glanced at his father's pensive face.

"You see, the color is golden, sometimes rusty-brown or even orange. But you will always be able to recognize it by its smell. It's so intoxicating, it's impossible to forget this scent once you've smelled this poison." Malcolm opened the flacon carefully and waved his hand above the vial's orifice. Samael couldn't smell anything at first, but then it hit him. The beautiful, powerful and unforgettable scent. If he tried to describe it he would fail.

"What does this poison do, father? You said it's fatal." Samael's curiosity was now activated. Malcolm sneered at Samael's eager expression, but continued, "At first the victims feels nothing unusual. Then for a short time they experience strong feelings of invincible power and happiness. After that short episode, the victims grow weaker and weaker, their vision is blurred, their senses aren't working properly anymore, until they fall into a dreamless long sleep without awakening."

Malcolm fell silent, thinking about the poison no doubt, because he continued, connecting words with his unspoken thoughts. "… yes… falling asleep, just like that. In the middle of the sentence you are saying, not finishing the word you are writing, before you can finish the move you are about to make. The sleep can last as much as a few days, depending on the victim's health and physical constitution. But there's no antidote, nothing that could help; not even magic. Death is inevitable and there's no known survivor." Malcolm rounded off his explanation and looked at his wistful son. He patted boy's head, returning him to reality.

"Tomorrow morning you're having fencing practice with Ser Armand. He agreed to teach you, and you will obey him. Do you understand, my son?" Malcolm wanted to be sure the boy heard him and caught his son's eyes with his own. Their eye color was similar, although Malcolm's eyes were a bit lighter.

Samael's face darkened. He lowered his head and replied, "I do, father."

Malcolm didn't see the tears in his little son's eyes as Samael ran away.

Malcolm sighed, trying to convince himself, he was doing the right thing and protecting his family. Lately it was more and more difficult to believe that.

oOo

Darktown around midnight was unexpectedly silent. Anders was restocking his healing potions and bandages, humming a slow melody. He wore nothing but black formless pants and boots. And here we go, the last potion, everything was ready for another clinic day. Anders stretched and yawned. He had no idea a hooded intruder had been watching him for a few minutes now.

The mage turned around, intending to wash himself a bit and sleep, when he spotted the dark figure leaning casually against the wall. Anders grabbed his staff as a lazy voice said,

"Relax, abomination. If I intended to kill you, you would be pawing Andraste's ass already."

Anders recognized the cocky dark voice that made him nervous every time he had heard it. He tightened the grasp on the staff and grimaced at Samael. "My, my… if it isn't our mighty, self-invited leader. Scram, Hawke, I'm not interested in witnessing one of your lunatic stunts tonight."

Samael disappeared and Anders blinked a few times, wondering where he had gone, when a quiet menacing voice right behind him made him jump and whirl around, only to have his chin lifted with a long, razor sharp stiletto. Anders gulped and his staff hit the dirt with an absurd thud.

"I mean no harm, mage, but if you insist, I will gladly re-evaluate my attitude." Samael stood so close to Anders, the mage could count his eyelashes.

Anders couldn't help himself; he gazed at Samael's shadowed face in rapture. His eyes looked black with crimson blazing highlights reflecting the soft light of the candles. The weapon cut through the air with a poignant sound, setting the mage's throat free. The assassin stalked even closer to the mage, hiding the weapon in his sleeve. Anders awoke from his trance and stumbled backwards to escape the rogue who was still closing in. The mage hit the wall with his back and gasped as Samael leaned on the wall as well, placing his palms on both sides of Anders' head. Something in the mage's radiant eyes caught Samael's attention and he searched them. Behind the fear and wrath he saw traces of feral lust, to his utter surprise.

The assassin tittered, stepped back and made himself comfortable in Anders' only armchair. He had come here with a clear intent after all. This was hard for him, but he was determined to say it.

"I came here to… well… Merrill thought, I should… I am sorry. I'm here to apologize for what happened in the sewers." Samael's confident voice cracked and he stared at his loosely entwined hands now.

Aroused, Anders was expecting anything but an apology. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief and folded his arms on the chest. He was surprised at how cold his own voice sounded when he replied. "Am I supposed to believe you really mean it, Hawke?"

"Think what you will, abomination. I've said what I came here for." Samael stood up abruptly, intending to leave. He glanced back at Anders from the door as a sudden idea crossed his mind.

"You don't happen to know the way to Gallows through the sewers, do you? Samael's voice was quiet and hesitating.

"Yes. I happen to know the sewer passage to the Gallows," was mage's sincere reply, not knowing what was on Samael's mind. Anders was puzzled why he even bothered to answer Samael's question.

"Any chance… you would show me?" Samael didn't look at Anders as this unexpected demand came from his mouth. Anders was at a loss at Samael's sheepish question and even more astonished by his own answer.

"Yes, I will show you. Tomorrow?"

Samael shot a surprised glance at Anders and bowed his head gracefully.

"Good night, abomin… Anders."

Samael was gone, not giving Anders the chance to reply. The mage just stood there, trying to understand why Samael had used his name for the very first time.

oOo

So it had finally come to this. They'd approached the Gallows and Merrill was fidgeting more and more with every step closer to the Templars within. Samael was nervous as well, but he was determined to see their plan through and managed to keep his face neutral, maybe a little bored. He felt Merrill's rising anxiety however. They had been examining their plan for two days now, revealing flaws, coordinating details and eliminating weaknesses.

They were fifty feet from the massive iron gate when Merrill whirled the rogue around suddenly, pushing him into the nearest alcove drowned in the dark.

The bemused assassin searched her widened eyes and there it was all written; the fear, doubts, the faith, her love for him… everything.

"Hawke… Samael… you wouldn't… would you? I mean… if you…" Merrill's hoarse voice cracked as she studied Samael's leather boots.

Samael would be amused by her knotty ramble if they weren't about to infiltrate the Gallows and kill his mother's murderer. So, she still had doubts about Samael's feelings for her. What a surprise. Or did she doubt her own feelings? Maybe she realized she shouldn't put herself in such a danger for somebody she might just like. Samael's face darkened as this thought crossed his already tense mind.

Merrill looked up abruptly and grabbed Samael's worn-out and dirty cloak. She pulled him hard into her. The kiss was fierce and hasty and it told Samael exactly what Merrill's problem was. Samael deepened the kiss and reluctantly broke it. Their foreheads were touching as he whispered,

"I will come for you, my little pariah. This I swear."

Merrill closed her eyes, still clenching Samael's clothing like her life depended on that grasp, and when she opened her hands, Samael saw a rising resolve and knew she was ready. Merrill made sure the hood covered Samael's tattoos; he looked like some bizarre Tevinter merchant now.

The last detail was missing and Merrill was about to remedy this neglect. She pulled out her little knife and slit her left wrist with a shallow, but sufficient cut. Samael nodded at her, then squeezed her arm and dragged her into the Gallows atrium. Merrill was resisting and cursing him and Samael cast her down in the middle of several Templars. Merrill tried to stand up, but Samael kicked her back down on the cold stone, turning his smutty face to the knights.

"Found this one outside of the city. Dancing around the fire, consorting with goats and stuff," Samael spit out, barely missing the witch. He reached for Merrill's left arm, crushing it with his gloved fingers, showing the bleeding cut on her wrist. The Templars set an alarm and the young recruit clapped Merrill in irons immediately; the other one yanked her to her feet and pushed her roughly towards the Knight-Commander's quarters.

"Hey, you, lad! Do I get a reward or what?" Samael scratched his belly and belched; continuing to play his little actor role of opportunistic traveling merchant.

"Sure. Go see Ser Thrask about that. And then get out, you filthy dog." The Templar who clapped Samael's woman in irons waved his hand, banishing Samael from the Gallows. Samael strolled to Thrask to collect the reward and he received a knowing and concerned glance from the Templar as well. Samael bowed his head and shambled away. He had a few hours before he was supposed to give the checkmate to Quentin.

oOo

The assassin was sitting at the Hanged Man, hiding in the corner, still shrouded in his cloak. The last glance Merrill had given him at the Gallows haunted him. The wordless fear and pain in her dolorous eyes… mixed with blind faith that he would come for her… despair… Samael gulped down the whiskey. Maker, what he had done this time? Whose idea was this? Why couldn't he just let the Templars and Aveline cut Quentin's sick head off? Another whiskey shot burned down his throat. He chuckled mirthlessly and slammed his fist into the table.

"I told you he would be here," said a sultry voice, belonging to a pillow princess and occasional ship's captain.

"You've told me many things, pirate. That I have nice underwear, among other things." Fenris sat down next to Hawke, burning him through with his greenish glare.

Samael was surprised Anders was there as well, sitting across the table. They nodded at each other. Samael remembered Anders had accepted his jerky apology with doubts and a cold manner, but yet he was there along with the others.

"What are you all doing here?" Samael wanted to come up with a wittier question, but he just couldn't focus enough to think of anything.

The answer came, surprisingly, from the stairs.

"Saving your stupid, reckless, crazed ass, of course. What else do we do these days?" Varric came nearer, smirking.

Samael scowled and growled, "Half-tall nug humper!"

Varric countered with "Rabid, vain dwarf hater!"

Samael narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out why they were even talking to him after what he had done. But it didn't matter, he had to stay focused on the task ahead. It was all their fault he had to come up with this mad plan in the first place. Samael took a deep breath and licked the whiskey drop on the glass bottom before he said,

"I wouldn't be here if you and your damned Guard-Captain let me kill that bastard in the sewers. And my woman wouldn't be being subjected to a Templar inquisition right now at the Gall…"

"WHAAAAT?" Everybody roared at once and Samael jumped a few inches.

The assassin sighed, gulped down the last whiskey shot and enlightened them about his plan.


	14. Chapter 14

"Sure, Hawke! What could possibly go wrong? I'll tell you what. We just run there, grab Merrill, cut Quentin's head off and stroll out of the Gallows, waving at the Templars!" Varric threw his arms in the air, losing his legendary placidity.

"We were preparing this plan for two days, dwarf. Of course I don't expect everything to go smoothly, but the crucial moments are clear and I'm going to improvise the rest." Samael's patience was stretched to a critical point and he desperately needed another drink. Alas, it wasn't possible if he wanted to be at his best at the Gallows.

The assassin was sitting in a leather armchair in front of the fireplace, his face hidden in the hands and the fire's shadows dancing on his skin. Varric was pacing through the room, murmuring something, and Isabela was straddling the chair, her legs spread shamelessly, as she observed her long fingernails and dirty hands.

Anders managed to surprise everybody when he sat down next to Samael's armchair on the fur rug, staring into the flames. He only looked up when he noticed Isabela and Varric were gaping at him, and he growled, "What? It's chilly in this stone tomb!" They didn't seem to buy this explanation.

Samael stayed motionless when Varric snapped at him. "Why you allowed that elf to go on his own is beyond me, you reckless rogue! How can you be sure he will fetch an ALIVE blood mage?" Varric was fuming, trying hard not to yell.

Samael glanced at the nervous dwarf and his expression was tired as he rubbed his temples with his fingers.

"Fenris knows what's at stake here and he understands why I need a blood mage. I have full confidence he will bring back a breathing one. Stop fretting, dwarf!"

"Fretting? I'm not fretting?" Varric fretted.

"I have a problem fathoming how you could hand over a woman you claim to love to the Templars. What is wrong with you?" Varric folded his arms on his recently re-grown chest-hair.

Anders stirred, then turned to Samael. His voice was quiet and rational as he spoke. "Yes, Hawke. How could you even come up with such an idea? How could you be so confident they won't kill her, rape her, or worse, before we reach her? And all this just to satiate your mad need for vengeance…"

Samael jumped onto his feet, lashing out at the mage,

"Funny to hear these words coming from you! You… you demon puppet!"

Anders jumped up as well, intending to counter him judging by the venomous glare he was giving Samael, and the thin black smoke emanating from his cracked skin, but Varric cut their dispute off. "Oh, oh, oh, everybody calm down. NOW. I get it, I get it. You're insane…" Varric gestured towards the assassin, "…and you're possessed," Varric bowed to Anders. "Maybe you should try to kill each other after this job is done. Or fuck each other, I don't care…" Varric rounded his speech off, sniggering, leering at Samael, who was popping his eyes at Varric, while his hands were groping for the daggers.

Anders shot a bitter glance at Varric, but the dwarf's intervention worked, since the mage sank into the armchair and Samael shut his mouth and leaned on the marble molding above the fireplace, both hypnotized by the flames.

"Samael, tell me again, please, why you think this wacky plan will work?" Varric wasn't kidding this time. He was worried and looked insecure.

Samael sighed and started pacing. It looked funny, since the puppy cocked its head in anticipation of a game and started pacing by its master's side. But it wasn't a puppy anymore; the mabari had grown to its full size, its chest was broad and chiseled, silver fur with anthracite shades dimly shone at every move of the powerful muscles beneath its skin.

Samael remembered how Merrill had finally managed to persuade him to name the dog. It happened after a parlous battle with tough and well-trained Followers of She. The dog had really shown its qualities, running around the battlefield, ripping the minions' throats out and shredding them into pieces. The mabari had saved them all that day. Samael was pleased and proud of his dog, and after this event he named it Charon, which seemed only fit judging by the bloody bath the mabari had left behind.

"Look, Varric. The key is in the simplicity of this plan. Thrask told me Aveline banned us all from the Gallows, with pictures of our faces hung at every corner in the place. Quentin is there somewhere, but Thrask couldn't find him, which means he's in Meredith's precious and well hidden prison for blood mages. Only a few high-ranking Templars and Guard-Captain know where these cellars are. I assume Merrill, as a blood mage, is there right now as well. I have her blood, and once Fenris drags some filthy blood mage up here, I will force him to come with me and find her for me. I will free her, take care of Quentin and off we go. The abom… Anders agreed to show me the sewer passage to the Gallows. Once I reach the basement it should be simple and…"

Isabela frowned and interrupted him. "How can you be so sure, Merrill would be still alive, Samael? What if… what if the Templars… tranquil… or worse…? Isabela's voice trailed off and her uneasiness about this whole plan was obvious.

Samael just shook his head and leaned on the armchair. Anders was fidgeting now, restless, as assassin's leather and bitter citrus scent reached his nostrils.

"Meredith is out of the city for three days, and nobody but she has the authority to command a Rite of Tranquility to be done upon a mage." Samael saw Varric was opening his mouth to ask the next obvious question and he continued, "And blood mages are usually sentenced to death, which must be ordained and signed by the Knight-Commander herself as well. No exceptions." Samael looked around, but saw only faces full of fear and doubt.

They had all fallen silent once more, when a hollow thud and quiet Tevinter swearing in the front room interrupted their thoughts. Samael whirled around, alarmed, but before he could do anything a cloaked, whimpering person was thrown through the door, landing at the rogue's feet. Samael smirked and walked over to his elven companion, who was smearing the blood on his armor. The assassin's voice was intimate and quiet as he touched the warrior's shoulder. "Greetings, brother. I was wondering if you hadn't forgotten yourself in some blood mages' den…"

Fenris observed the gloved hand gently squeezing his shoulder and decided he liked it. He snickered back at Samael and pointed with his free arm at the crawling young blood mage.

"You know… I just couldn't decide which one would be the most agreeable for your plan. So I was choosing carefully…"

"… with your greatsword, I see." Samael finished his sentence for him. They both glanced at each other and roared in laughter, bending over and pawing each other.

Varric and Anders weren't amused and Varric mumbled in Anders' ear, "Look at them. The creepy and the creepier. Now only to decide which one is which."

The Varric's next sentence was intended for those two pigeons however. "If you two daisies could focus at the task ahead and stop guffawing for a moment…" Varric's impatient voice interrupted them, as the dwarf observed the terrified mage on the floor.

Samael pulled back his hands, blinking at the grinning elf, and strolled to the blood mage, who started quivering; he wasn't even able to look at Samael's face. The rogue took a deep breath, trying to sound neutral and not menacing. Much.

"I'll make it simple for you, boy. I'm in need of a blood mage. You will gladly render your services to me. You help, you live. Agreed?"

"Your diplomatic skills are astonishing tonight, Hawke." Varric said, rolling his eyes.

The blood mage was just weltering on the parquetry, sobbing and murmuring to himself.

Samael snorted, losing patience with the squirming worm on the floor. He ripped his katana from the sheath and swung it, lifting the blood mage's chin, forcing him to look up at him. Their eyes met and Samael hissed, "I didn't hear your answer. Come again…?" The assassin accompanied his question with a toothy grin.

The blood mage wanted to nod, then he figured out that Samael would just slash his throat if he didn't answer properly, so he tried hard to calm down and replied, "Agreed. But… y-you… you will let me g-go? Yes?" The poor boy was sweating under Samael's blazing glare. The assassin didn't rush to answer that tremulous question.

"Yes. Yes, I will let you go. Now pay attention so we can proceed."

Samael yanked the boy to his feet and sat him down in a chair. Isabela stuck a glass of brandy into the mage's trembling hands and gave him a lenient smile.

oOo

The tunnel smelled of mold and the stale air choked them. Finally, they were standing by a rusty and shaky ladder and a wooden trapdoor leading to the Gallows basement. According to Anders, the basement should be vacant, but they all knew they had to be careful and remain unseen if possible.

Hesitating, Samael stuck the torch between the ladder ribs and turned to his companions. He thought a little 'leader speech' was in order, but when he searched their darkened faces he couldn't find the proper words to express himself. The assassin knew his lovely personality was insufferable most of the time and yet they were all there, helping him. He rued the destiny that had set Aveline against him, not beside him. She was a powerful ally and an even more powerful enemy. He had never told her that despite her general stiffness and a disgusting messiah complex, he really, really liked her.

They all expected Samael to say something and his speechlessness and idle swallowing amused them, although their situation was more than dire.

Varric chuckled as his arid voice broke the awkward silence, the sound echoing in the tunnel when he spoke, "A mighty leader beheld his loyal underlings and a choked 'thank you' slipped out of his ungrateful maw…" They all tittered and felt better at once. Samael decided to say a few words to each of them, starting with Varric.

"Dwarf… I… well. You know I would be much richer if you didn't parasite on me at the Hanged Man all the time… but… you know… Thank you, Varric. You've proven so many times you are… a friend." Samael was poking the tip of his boot into the wall, not looking at his half-tall companion.

Varric was stunned at how young and vulnerable Samael looked in that moment. He knew him only as a sardonic and fearless scoundrel with cheeky comments. The dwarf cleared his throat, trying to hide his pathos and lighten the atmosphere a bit.

"Don't you dare pull out some 'we might all die, so let's hug' scene, Hawke. Your plan is insane, yes, so are you, but hey, we're here to mock your failure and save your ass, so don't you worry. Uncle Varric will save the day, as always."

Samael nodded, giving the dwarf a faint smile. He turned to the pillow princess then, "Isabela, you are supposed to stay in the basement to keep our escape passage clear and…"

"…but I would miss all the fun, Samael! I won't be left behind, just because…" Isabela's pouty voice interrupted him.

Samael silenced her with a glare, telling her it was an order, not a question. She decided not to tease a snake with a bare foot, puckered her lips, and nodded.

Samael's gaze landed on Fenris' lanky dark figure, leaning on the ruinous wall in nonchalance. The assassin strolled to him, putting his left hand shyly on the warrior's shoulder. To his surprise Fenris mirrored him, lowering his head until their foreheads met. Samael blinked at this unexpected mute gesture of devotion and whispered, "Fenris… my brother… you don't need to be here. Please, reconsider. Maybe you should just get out of here… or look after Isabela… or…" The assassin's uncertain voice died away.

Samael saw a mild grin curling the elf's full lips as he whispered back, "Don't push me away from you now, Samael. I have a persistent feeling you are going to need me up there. And someone should look after the abomination and the blood mage as well, so…" Fenris' voice trailed off as they both glanced at the mages. Samael noticed a flash of jealousy on Anders' face.

The rogue broke their hold rather reluctantly and stood in front of Anders. He had no clue what should he say, but he did know he wouldn't be standing here without the mage who had shown him this secret passage. Anders had a sheepish expression on his face and Samael felt a thorn of guilt when he remembered how badly he treated him all the time. Maybe the mage was not so bad after all and he had just prevented himself from seeing that. The assassin sighed as he made another step to the waiting mage.

"Thank you for showing me this passage… Anders." Samael shut up, wondering if it was enough or not. Anders bowed, not breaking their eye contact. "I mean, we wouldn't be here, if you hadn't… you know… helped us out."

Anders remained silent, but there was hunger for the assassin's approval in his eyes. That caught Samael off guard and he let his finger brush the mage's jawbone. The touch was brief and feather-like, but Anders shuddered and closed his eyes. The assassin stepped back, distracted, raking his hair with one hand, with the other he patted Charon's head. The mabari nudged his thigh with its muzzle. It was obviously impatient and eager to taste some Templar blood.

Samael shot one last glance at them, nodded, and climbed up the ladder.

oOo

The stone cramped tunnels were dismal, but at least the air up there was better. Samael indicated he would take care of every Templar on duty and ask for their help only if necessary. Some of the Templars were vigilant, hard to approach; some of them were playing cards and didn't give a shit about their watch. Samael went systematically through the rooms and serpentine corridors, dispatching them quietly one by one. He was like a shadow, elusive, striking precisely and lethally. Varric's crossbow proved useful as well.

His companions were staring at their ruthless leader in awe. Fenris in admiration. They gathered in a big chamber, four Templar corpses scattered around. Each of them had a throwing knife stuck in the throat. Samael turned to the until now silent blood mage. He quivered under the assassin's scrutiny and jerked when Samael's hand disappeared underneath his black leather jerkin, pulling out something pendent on a silver chain. He held it hidden in his palm, tracing it with his other hand, and his facial expression was unreadable. A tender smile ran across his lips as he clasped it in a fist and held it towards the blood mage. Samael tore the chain off of his neck and their eyes locked as the blood mage reached and took the vial from Samael. It was a small hyaline flacon; a lazy crimson fluid was in there.

"Find her," were Samael's quiet words.

Everyone fell silent as the blood mage opened the flacon, coated his finger, and made a thick blood smear on his face, crossing his nose and one cheek.

Samael stepped back and leaned on the wall, folding his arms on the chest. Soon… soon he would be with her again. He would find her and that erratic boulder of anxiety would fall off his chest once she was with him. The blood mage inhaled sharply, a hissing sound escaped his lips as he was lifted up, his robes ruffling in the inert air. Then he gasped and collapsed right into the blood puddle, panting.

Samael rushed to him and pulled him up on his wiggling feet. He searched his pale face desperately, demanding an answer, wanting to know if he had succeeded in finding her. The blood mage gave a faint nod and the assassin relaxed. He didn't realize he was clenching his fists until his fingernails jabbed into his palms drew blood.

"Ahead and the first room on your right. There's a hidden entrance to the dungeon. The woman you're looking for is in the first cell on the left." The lad's wheezy voice cracked.

"Is she…" Samael wasn't able to ask if she was alive.

"She's alive, Messere. I wouldn't be able to sense her if she wasn't. But her body and will are weakening, I can tell that much. Hurry." The blood mage returned the half-empty flacon back to Samael.

Samael nodded at him as if their deal was finished and he was free to leave. He turned away to continue searching in the direction he had been given when a strident sound made him whirl around. It took ten seconds before he fathomed what had happened. He saw a grinning Fenris with a blood-stained greatsword throning on his shoulder and the blood mage's head trundling towards Anders. Everyone goggled at the elven warrior, apparently too shocked to speak. Anders was the first awakened.

"What the hell…? Why would you do that, you murdering loon? He helped us! He… He… ARGH… sod it all!" Anders threw his arms in the air and his eyes flashed in blue flames. Varric just shook his head, patting Anders' shoulder.

Fenris bristled and snapped back, tittering at the mage's despair. "He WAS a blood mage, abomination! Surely you couldn't expect us to let him go just like that. Yes, he had served us well and now it is the time for him to meet his Maker." Fenris' confident voice was clanging in the hall as the elf turned to face Samael to confirm his statement. But Samael just raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched in suppressed laugh.

"Actually, Fenris, I was serious about letting him go, you know. But you've just spoiled my act of mercy, you blood-thirsty elf!" There was no wrath in Samael's words, not at all. He was amused by Fenris' bewildered face gaping at him in disbelief.

"Ah… that… I did not expect. My apologies, Samael." Fenris couldn't resist and simpered.

Then he turned to the fresh mageling corpse and mumbled "Sorry," only amusing Samael even more.

Their leader tried unsuccessfully to mask his laughter with a cough and turned away once again, only to be stopped by Fenris' peevish voice. "Wait. We aren't going to save that witch, are we? I mean, I thought you'd welcome this opportunity to get rid of her…?" There was no joking in the elf's voice whatsoever; it was completely artless and concerned.

Samael couldn't help himself as he burst into the most sincere laughter he had had in months. Varric joined him and only Anders looked disgusted.

"Aaaah, Fenris… my beautiful Fenris… you will kill me one day with these comments… Ha ha ha ha…." Samael's voice changed into another salvo of joy.

"No, Fenris. I'm really here to pick up Merrill, then take care of Quentin, so it would be lovely if you'd try not to murder her as well." Samael's voice darkened as he continued, "… or Quentin for that matter. He is MINE."

Fenris scowled and nudged Samael in the ribs as he walked by. The assassin wrapped his arm around the pouty elf and left the chamber, still tittering.


	15. Chapter 15

Merrill was curled into a bony, dirty ball, trembling, naked and unable to move. The Templars' inquisition went on for three hours. Three hours of humiliation, intrusive questions, physical abuse and mocking. Then they ripped her clothes off and tossed her into a dismal dark hole with a dirt floor and crying walls. Merrill's old elven soul, sensitive to such things, could sense the tortured spirits of those who had died within these walls, inhabiting this place. They were full of hatred, and hissed about vengeance and death.

The high-ranking Templar who had locked her in here was really a piece of art. He was a particularly nasty son of a bitch and he promised her he would stop by tonight, to 'beat that stinking demon out of her and flay her skin strip by strip'. Yes, those were his exact words. Merrill shuddered and vomited. She barely held her sobs behind her clenched teeth, but her bleeding pride was still within her, however abased she was.

Merrill hid herself in a little cocoon, determined to escape the hideous reality. Her defense mechanism stirred and her mind started producing images of a green meadow in bloom, whispering grass, a mild summer breeze ruffling her hair. And a face. His face. The one she loved. The one because of whom she was in this mess and yes, she would gladly do that again, to please her lover and prove herself. Merrill's soul fled her petty body, entering its own world.

_Surely Samael is approaching me by now… right? _

_He must be here somewhere already, searching for me, using my blood to locate me, dispatching guards if necessary… right?_

_He wouldn't… leave me here to rot… right?_

_No, no, no. No. That's just despair and fear talking in my head. Samael loves me, I'm sure about that. We want each other. We need each other. We will be happy together after this is over. Maybe he will ask me to live with him in his beautiful huge mansion._ _I will wear a pretty dress and delicate jewelry, perhaps reading in the study, and Samael, returning home, kissing me... maybe gathering me in his strong, protecting arms, pushing me to the bedroom impatiently… hmm…_

A salacious voice intruded into poor Merrill's happy place and her vision evaporated.

"Hey! You, elven bitch! What are you doing? Look at me when I'm talking to you, you worthless painted carcass! Or haven't they taught you to obey?" The Templar guffawed at his own words, leaning against the iron bars.

"Look, I've brought you something. I thought you might enjoy this as much as me, pointy-eared whore." The Templar held Merrill's beloved staff, given to her by her Keeper. He waited until Merrill looked up at him, her eyes widened and pleading with him not to.

"CRACK!"

The staff was broken and Templar ripped off the feathers and smashed the crystal head. He glanced at Merrill only when there was nothing but splinters and shards left. Merrill's face was bloodless. She lowered her head again, hiding it under her arms, crying.

She was broken. She sent her martyred mind wandering beyond her body again.

It was at that moment when Merrill felt the familiar stabbing sensation in her underbelly. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but now it was her redemption.

_Samael. _

_He is nearby. _

Merrill could sense his presence ever since she had saved his life in Lowtown, healing his lacerated body with her own blood and flesh. It had almost cost her the highest price, but she had found that she could feel him when he was close enough. When she was at the Hanged Man talking to Varric and Isabela in the dwarf's suite, she knew Hawke when was coming up the stairs intending to visit Varric. And a few seconds later, Samael would really walk through the door. It seemed to work for only for a very short distance, but it was intriguing. Merrill remained in her fetal position, but her lips were twisted in a vengeful grin.

But nothing was happening besides the Templar's ramble.

_Is it possible that my warped mind has just imagined Samael is closing in? To comfort myself, knowing there is no salvation for me? What if he doesn't come for me at all? It makes perfect sense now, he just needs to get rid of me and this is his way out of our bond. Kill me without letting my blood stain his hands._

A loathsome gurgling sound interrupted Merrill's bustling thoughts, but she refused to acknowledge it. She didn't look up when a quite thud let her know the Templar was dead, a long thin blade piercing his nape. She remained curled like a small, wounded animal, determined not let anyone intrude into her world again. It was the last thing she had any control over, and she would fight for this little sane piece of hers to the end.

The gate clattered and Samael rushed forward, kneeling beside the tiny naked silhouette huddled in the corner. Scared to death. Yes, that was how he would describe his feelings right then, when he saw her motionless figure. What if…? What they had done to her? How could he allow this to happen?

_Maybe we could redecorate his house together. I'm thinking about more paintings on the walls; it would make the mansion cosier and nicer._

"Merrill?" His whispering hung in the dead air and she stirred at the sound of his voice, pushing herself away from him.

_Maybe some new curtains made of greenish satin to light the rooms a bit. And more plants._

"Merrill, look at me! Merrill, I'm here. Please look at me…"

_Yes, definitely more plants_. _Ah, wouldn't it be lovely? Samael, me… and plants._

"I came for you, as I promised I would! Say something… Merrill…"

Merrill was politely surprised; her vision was so persistent that it refused to disappear. That deep velvet voice echoing in the distance… was familiar. But no, it wasn't that far, she actually felt the warmth of a human body right next to her. Maybe she should try to touch it, examine it, decide, if it was real or not.

The pariah's hand shot out, snatching Samael's arm so abruptly that its owner jumped in dismay. He left his hand in hers though, falling onto his knees again after a moment.

Hesitating, Samael fished her chin out of the cluster of cold flesh, bones and disheveled hair and lifted it slowly. She wasn't looking at him; her eyes were veiled, wandering through another realm.

"Look at me," he whispered, then shook her when he got no reaction. Merrill's eyes slowly slid to his desperate face and narrowed.

He searched them in a dim light of a torch; they were feral and resentful. But as she focused at him, her lips began quivering and she threw herself into his arms, clenching his clothes, too afraid he would vanish if she let go of him. Samael's mind drowned in relief, as he pressed her onto his chest, so fragile and dirty… and naked. Huh, not a good idea to ravish her right there in front of the others, right? Riiight.

It was still his Merrill. They hadn't broken her. He wouldn't allow anything like this in the future. Never ever again.

Samael wrapped her in a cobalt blue cloak he had brought for her, assuming she would need it. He pulled her up to her feet gently. They were looking into each other's eyes, unwilling to acknowledge anything else around them. Quentin seemed unimportant to Samael, everything else was unimportant in comparison to Merrill, alive and herself.

A quite cough revived them to reality, however, and they both glanced at the faces peeking at them from the hallway.

Vigilant Varric, fidgeting Fenris, anxious Anders and a mischievous mabari.

It was the time for them to move on.

oOo

Quentin was sprawled out on a waggling, shabby bed without the sheets. He wore his clothes, since the Templars were scared shitless of him, not daring to touch him. He heard what was going on in the corridor and he recognized the voice of that woman's son… Alexandra was her name? Or Linda? He didn't know, nor care. He was dead anyway. Only one thing remained to be seen, if he would die by the Templar's sword or by the hand of that pathetic avenger. At this point he was inclined to believe the second possibility was more likely.

It was as if Samael had heard him, since his face full of scorn and hatred appeared behind the bars. Quentin remained calm, his hands folded behind his head, looking at the ceiling.

"Well, nice to see you too, Quentin. I hope you've saved me some prisoner's grub. See, I have this peculiar HUNGER lately." Samael sneered at the necromancer, playing with the lock on the gate.

"He isn't really hungry, is he?" Merrill turned to Varric with a puzzled expression. He silenced her with a hand covering her mouth.

Quentin tried not to show his fear, but he shivered involuntarily as he glimpsed Samael's vicious and eager expression.

The lock came loose and clanged on the stone floor.

"Samael, be careful…" Merrill caught the assassin's forearm, her eyes begging him. The rogue nodded, but he wasn't really paying attention. He saw his dead mother again, cut into pieces, her empty eyes… the last words she had said to him.

Samael shook his head, driving the gruesome memory away, stalking to Quentin, who was still lying on the bed. Samael actually had no idea what to do next. The murderer was finally within his reach, but Samael felt only disquiet and frustration.

_This is really it? Just to kill him and consider my mother's death avenged? Is it really that simple? Would anything change after the deed? Anything at all? What if…_

A pulsing pain awakened Samael from his silent contemplation. That snake Quentin had taken advantage of Samael's distraction, pulling a tiny knife out of his robes and stabbing Samael's arm. The assassin hissed and jumped back, but it was only a shallow cut, a few drops of blood, and it roused him from his apathy. Originally, Samael had intended to grant Quentin a slow and painful death, but now he was determined just to pierce the mage's heart and be done with this place.

Samael unsheathed his blades, giving Quentin one last merciless glance, and was about to finish him off, when he smelled… A faint scent of something painfully familiar. Something marvelous… something petrifying… what was it?

Samael's blades slipped out of his trembling hands and tolled on the cold stone beneath his boots. He staggered backwards, shaking his head while staring at the necromancer, until he hit the wall and collapsed, observing the wound closely. Well… more like sniffing it.

A vile grin twisted Quentin's lips. So… the lad had obviously recognized the peculiar poison the knife was coated in. And judging by his reaction he knew he was dead. Good. Quentin would die happier, knowing he wasn't the only one whose days were numbered.

Merrill rushed to her lover, alarmed, confused, scared by his breakdown. Samael was still quivering, unable to move, to talk, his distant eyes were roaming around the cell. Merrill put her palm on his cheek, forcing him to look at her, to explain what was happening.

Samael finally calmed down enough to focus on the face in front of him, and Quentin laughed at his blank expression. It was obvious Samael wouldn't be able to finish the task he had come here for. But they didn't know. They thought he had just had a panic attack or bad memories that had peered at him. They didn't know he was dying, and the poison was spreading through his veins. He only had to ask anyone to finish Quentin off and Quentin himself knew that, so he was checking out the companions in perverse curiosity.

"Hum, what do we have here… my, my… what would that be, mighty Hawke? A nice arrow into my heart from that pitiful dwarf? Or quick beheading by that curious elf? Or maybe that fair-haired mage would love to crush my bones with some lovely spell? I can't imagine that ridiculous witch would know some offensive spell. So what say you? Or are you gonna kill me with your teary eyes? Tell them, lad, tell them, what was on my knife." Quentin's narrow silver eyes were now full of pure mad joy.

"Tell them how many hours of your pathetic life are left, Hawke. Tick-tack, tick-tack, Hawke. What are you going to do with the rest of your short life? Maybe you should…"

Merrill interrupted his disdainful prattle when she kicked him off the bed. She hit his head and Quentin was shaken, crawling on the stone floor, whining.

Everybody stared at Samael, waiting for an explanation, but there was nothing to say. He was dead. And he had no intention of killing that bastard.

The assassin's pleading eyes were locked with Merrill's and she understood. He wanted her to kill Quentin for him. The others understood as well, and they all tried at once to convince Samael to let them do it. He just waved them off, still gaping at Merrill with hope. She nodded.

In the meantime, Quentin climbed back to bed, nursing his head wound, chuckling.

Nobody saw it coming. Merrill pierced her palm with Samael's knife and caught Quentin in a maelstrom made of black and crimson dancing fibres. They all could see him mutely screaming in utter horror, his eyes rolling backwards in his head in pain, and his whole body twisted in an unnatural pose.

Merrill was determined to please Samael, however her thoughts were whirling around that poison Quentin had spoken of and she was terrified that Samael hadn't negated those words about his death.

The others' mouths were hanging open, staring at the horrid scene.

Merrill started to break bone after bone and Quentin's head slumped back, revealing his neck artery pulsing in insane rhythm. Samael was looking at Merrill in awe, rather than at Quentin, not knowing what he should think about her behavior. She was torturing the guy and smiling at him at the same time. Samael gave her a hesitant smile, but he wished she would kill the mage already.

But Merrill wasn't done yet, she was determined to let him suffer for his deeds.

One arm was torn off of Quentin's body. A mute shrieking and blood. Lots of blood.

The second arm was broken several times, the obscene white bones peeking out at them.

His skin was slashed with long deep cuts and ripped to shreds.

His eyes burnt out.

Quentin's dead body hit the ground with a raw thud.

Silence.

oOo

"Talk to me, Samael! What did he mean you are dead? What's happening? What about the poison?" Merrill was restless, shaking her lover, demanding an answer. Everybody was gathered around them.

Samael opened his eyes, but he looked at Varric instead of her.

"It's the Belial's Breath… Varric," he breathed out.

Merrill glanced at the dwarf, but he just closed his eyes and his head slowly lowered. Anders seemed to understand as well, since he stumbled away, sitting on the bed and hiding his face in palms.

"What's going on? Samael?" Fenris roared, pulling the limp rogue to his feet, shaking him. They had never seen Fenris so upset, so frightened. Samael just shook his head, unable to speak. Merrill held her hand on his cheek, big tears rolling down her dirty face.

The Templars' boots clanging on the stone awakened them. Many, many Templars' boots. They all moved at once, scampering for the basement entrance without a word. Charon led the way without hesitation.

It was obvious they had the whole Maker's damned holy army behind their asses and they were closing in as Samael's group reached Isabela, who was looting several dead Templars. They didn't have to explain anything to her. She kicked the trapdoor open and jumped in first. Varric followed with Anders, cursing his height, and Fenris leapt into the dark hole in one fluid and graceful movement as well.

Merrill pushed Samael towards the trapdoor, but to her surprise, he froze. She searched his face, not believing what he was about to do. He… wasn't going with them. Why? Creators, why?

"Samael?" Her weak voice cracked as she pushed him again. Everybody was now staring at them from the trapdoor, wondering what was taking so long to them.

"Merrill, listen to me. Quentin was right. The poison… I'm… dead. But you have to live. You will have a good life, I took care of that. Go. Save yourself. You will find…"

"NO! NO, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU DON'T MEAN THAT! NO, FORGET IT!

Samael pulled her into him and their lips met in one last breathless kiss. An ultimate kiss that was worth living or dying for. Samael felt her hot tears, but there was no other way for him. He would be able to conceal the trapdoor; they would all be safe. And him… well… Samael was dead anyway. It didn't matter if he died of a stab wound or that blasted poison, right?

Merrill was determined to resist, but Samael swept her off her feet, held her and inhaled her scent for the last time, before he shoved her through the trapdoor into Varric's grasp.

Samael's eyes were pleading with the dwarf when he whispered,

"Take her out of here, Varric. Go."

Nobody moved.

"GO! You were here on my behalf and under my command! My last order; get your silly asses out of here. VARRIC, MOVE!"

Varric jumped up, squeezing Merrill's arm, nodding at Samael, but still standing there.

"Samael… you wouldn't have left any of us behind, so stop making a pathetic martyr of yourself and…" Varric tried to reason with their leader.

"Oh, I would leave you all here if it meant I would live, believe me, dwarf! Now fuck off!" Samael shouted, not believing his words either.

"Belial's Breath, Varric… But I won't allow you all to go down with me… now get out of here. GET OUT!"

Varric ran away, dragging the kicking and yelling Merrill with him. Anders bowed at the rogue and his eyes were glassy. He slowly turned around and walked away, tottering like a drunk.

Fenris was leaning on his greatsword, his expression indecipherable. Samael wished he would disappear, not try to convince him to flee as well. Fenris was a warrior, he should understand, right? And he did, to the assassin's relief.

"Samael… meet me in the next life, my brother." They clasped their fists for a brief moment, smiled at each other and the elf was gone. The vibes of Merrill's yelling were distant; she was calling him. Samael resisted the urge to answer that sweet Siren call and turned around.

Only Charon remained with a bored expression, licking his paw. Samael frowned and gestured towards the trapdoor.

"You too, my stubborn mabari. Come on, jump in there. Take care of Merrill for me."

The dog peered at him and growled, then returned to its important business, licking the paw.

"I said GET OUT, you silly mongrel! I knew I should have drowned you when I won you in that stupid card game!" Samael's harsh words were completely antagonistic to his behavior. He strolled to the mabari and started caressing its thick silver fur with long, intense strokes.

"It's just us, right? Just us, Charon. Now listen to me. When I give you an order to attack, you attack. When I tell you to stop and lay down like a good boy, you will obey. Am I clear?"

Charon barked in pure happiness, bouncing around his master. Samael kicked the trapdoor shut, rolling a few barrels on it, putting some old dusty nets around. Then he smeared the boot prints and stood in a fighting stance in the other corner across the basement. Charon was standing right next to him, his muscles bulging in anticipation. Samael felt a sudden wave of invincible power and joy flooding his body.

_Aaaah, here we go. Welcome, Belial. I've been expecting you._

He laughed mirthlessly, unsheathing his blades for the last time in his life.

When the Templars had arrived at the place, they had a most peculiar scene to behold.

A single warrior with a bristling huge mabari dog by his side. But at first they noticed only his eyes. They were… on fire. Blazing with the madness of a man who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain as well.

The Templars halted, skidding, colliding with each other.

"What? Don't you recognize Death when she's coming for you?" Samael cried out, ready as ever to meet with his destiny.

oOo

The funny part had ended as quickly as it started. Scattered bodies around Samael became blurry and he tripped several times over them. He had several wounds, as his ability to dodge attacks was weakening with every swing of his blades.

The mabari looked like a pincushion before it managed to take down those annoying archers, but it didn't seem mind the punctures. Samael was astonished by its speed and accuracy, dispatching the Templars one by one, and still looking after its master.

Samael's veiled eyes caught a distant familiar redheaded figure, hesitating, with half-drawn sword.

_Huh, her Majesty herself has decided to show up… what a happy day. And she's obviously reluctant to perform the coupe-de-grâce. Coward. I will make her then._

With this thought he started to cut his way through the Templars. He noticed the battle noise was echoing in his mind only a little and his moves were clumsy, his senses smothered.

"Hawke! Don't! Give up this fight and save your life! Please, just put down the weapons…"

Aveline was apparently terrified about the thought of fighting with her old friend, but Samael's answer was clear, as he tried to twin-fang her torso. Aveline drew her weapon and raised her shield, not fighting back, only taking Samael's slowing attack. She had noticed something was very wrong with the rogue, something worse than his battle injuries, and she paid the price for being distracted.

Samael kicked the sword out of her hand and swung his blade, slashing through the flesh on Aveline's face. _Just something she will remember me by_, he tittered at this thought. The cut was much deeper than Samael had intended, caused by his tattered senses, no doubt.

With his last strength, Samael managed to get behind Aveline's back, pushing the blade onto her throat with one hand, with the other hand giving the sign to his mabari to stop fighting. To his surprise the mabari limped to him immediately and lay down, fidgeting, but staying in the ordered position. The Templars had stopped fighting as well, staring at the Guards-Captain for orders. Aveline just clenched her teeth, shaking her head.

"And we meet again, Guards-Captain," Samael whispered into her ear, letting Aveline feel the coldness of the steel on her neck. Aveline just gulped. She would rather bite her tongue in half than beg for her life, and the assassin knew it.

Samael was content with how things had turned out as he kicked Aveline down into the dirt, releasing her. The whole basement was spinning with him, as he tried to focus on his hands. They weren't trembling, they were just dissipating.

"If you will excuse me, Aveline, I have an important appointment."

Samael looked up, but he didn't see Aveline or the Templars. His mortality was gazing at him with a toothy grin, lurking in the darkness. He wasn't scared, oh no. More like curious. And tired, yes, Maker, he was so tired. So… sleepy. Why not just snuggle down here and sleep it all off…

What was father saying? Falling asleep, just like that. In the middle of the sentence you were saying, not finishing the word you were writing, before you could finish the move you were about to make.

They say you see your whole life flashes through your mind before you die. It wasn't true. He had seen only one thing. One face. All his life was about a hatred, blood and constant fighting. Merrill had shown him a new path. She had taught him new things, things worth living for, things he didn't know before he had met her. She had saved him in so many ways.

And Samael didn't want to hate anymore, he wanted to love now. Was it too late? Maybe. But there was always a fool's hope, right?

The Templars in the basement were peering at the brave rogue in rapture.

A last glance at his mabari…

A graceful bow to Aveline…

Samael turned his back to them, made a few reeling steps, then collapsed.

Everybody stayed motionless. Only the mabari crawled to its master, leaving a blood trail behind it, and howled.


	16. Chapter 16

Everyone fell silent as Merrill made her way through the busy Kirkwall alienage. Some observed her tattered and blood-stained cloak, whispering to each other behind her back, others gave her indignant glances just for being there. But Merrill had ceased caring about such things a long time ago. She flung open the front door to her house, and crushed it closed behind her back.

Merrill started pacing through her pitiful home, kicking things out of her way, panting and fuming. Oh, this was so not happening to her! How could she think for one damned second that she could finally be happy? That she had found someone who had seen all of her sides, even the worst ones, and still hadn't run away screaming and calling her a monster? Someone willing to share his life with her?

But it was done now. She had thought their trip to the Gallows wouldn't go smoothly, but the reality had exceeded her worst expectations. First the Templars' abuse, then mad Quentin and his poison. Samael forcing them to escape, to save themselves, when he knew that there was no salvation for him. How could she have left him behind?

Merrill wittingly omitted that Samael had pushed her through the trapdoor against her will and concealed the door so nobody would follow his companions. They were there under his command and on his behalf; Samael thought it was only right that he was the one doing this ridiculous self-sacrifice. The poison was spreading throughout his weakening body after all, so it wouldn't take long to die.

Merrill closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, remembering the last glance her lover had given her; the eternal sorrow of their parting, the relief that she would live while his life was forfeit. This ceaseless vision which was playing in her head became unbearable, and Merrill let out a mighty howl of anguish.

Everything. Everything had been taken from her when she was banished from her clan. She was left alone in Kirkwall, to build a new life from the shards of the old. After two years of misery, she had seemed to finally find a feather of happiness when her life and the life of Samael had entwined. She felt accepted, loved and protected once again. But when he was taken from her, Merrill lost everything she treasured all over again.

In a blind rage, Merrill opened her cupboard. There were colorful mugs there, one for every friend she had. She snatched the nearest one and smashed it on the shabby wall. It was the black one, rarely used because it was Fenris'. Sebastian's blue one was next, followed by her own mossy green mug. Yellow. Anders. Pink. Isabela. White. Varric. Merrill cursed, and relieved her tension by crushing the sharp fragments beneath her bare feet. She kicked the now bloody fragments around the room then turned to the innocent cupboard again. Her eyes slipped to the crimson mug, HIS mug. Merrill reached for it, and collapsed on the dirty floor, cradling the mug in her palms, crying her heart out.

Her despair reached a sad peak and she was contemplating how many whip lashes of destiny one person could bear without going insane. Merrill glanced up and spotted the orange mug belonging to Aveline. She hadn't realized she was tightening her grasp on the red mug until it cracked in her hands and she cut herself. The physical pain worked to break the spell, and she swept away the bitter tears rolling down her cheeks, standing up and setting Samael's broken mug aside carefully.

Merrill forced herself to focus. Aveline. The Guards-Captain. Samael had to fight with a Templar horde no doubt, so he was probably hurt, poisoned and imprisoned. And if anybody knew where he was, it would be Aveline. Merrill didn't let herself think for even a second that Samael might be dead. It was foolish and childish of her, but the image of Samael lying somewhere helpless, hurt, dying, tortured Merrill's mind beyond the bearable point.

What had Samael said about that poison? He called it the Belial's Breath and she remembered Varric had closed his eyes in defeat when Samael had said that name. That meant it was lethal, and she recalled that Varric had said something about a long dreamless sleep before the inevitable death. Good, she had some time then. Maybe it was time to remind herself she wasn't some feckless and weak city elf, knowing only misery and a human master's whip. She knew what had to be done now, and that she would need all her strength and courage to do it. It was the time to set the Dalish pariah inside of her loose.

oOo

Sundermount around midnight was quiet and sleepy. The leaves whispered in the breeze and the croon of a night bird completed the scene, but Merrill wasn't fooled by this factitious peace. She knew an elven guard had to be awake and vigilant, and since she was no rogue it would be impossible for her to trespass and not be seen. But she didn't care. Oh, how she didn't give a shit about her former brethren. It was liberating.

She spotted them soon enough, and considered the possibilities. Four elven guards. Merrill was sure there was another watch across the camp, ready to answer the call for help. She took a deep breath, clenched Samael's knife, and prepared herself to fight to the death. She had no staff, but she wouldn't need one, oh no. Not this time. This was a retaliation she craved in the darkest corner of her heart.

Harshal was chuckling about the winning round of some card game when he noticed the dark hooded silhouette standing in the shadows. The figure wasn't tall, but it was enveloped in an ominous flare, the color venomous green. The elf alerted the others about the intruder and moved forward cautiously. He was astonished when he recognized Merrill's pale face.

"Let me pass. I need to talk to the Keeper." The pariah tried to make her words sound calm, but… well… it sounded more like 'just give me a reason to hang your guts on the tree'.

Harshal stepped forward, unsheathing his sword, raising the shield, sneering at Merrill.

"You were banished, Nameless, and I hereby invoke the right to send your paltry soul to the Dread Wolf for invading the place that is forbidden to you. Kneel and embrace destiny, if you have any elven pride left inside of you."

His words were cold and scornful, but Merrill was beyond the point of caring what her clan thought of her. And she certainly hadn't come here to die. Her eyes looked dead and her lips were twisted in a direful grin. This should have told the guards to stay out of her way, but they were confident in their number, and it was their duty to punish her for this intrusion.

Satisfied, that they were willing to give her the fight she needed, Merrill shook her head about their foolishness and slit her both wrists without hesitation. She was about to use the power of the blood magic she had been evicted for against her own people for the first time. The irony made her laugh and the elves shivered at the sound, which chilled their bones. Her power unleashed, a pulsing wave of purple lightning sent the guards staggering backwards only to be trapped by the blood magic. Merrill waved her long fingers and deep cuts slashed their flesh. Their howling didn't bother Merrill at all. It wasn't Merrill anymore, she had finally become the monster they had labelled her so long ago. She strolled to the nearest elf and coated her fingers in his blood casually, then she turned to another, and did the same with her other hand, smearing the blood on her face.

Her expression was blank and the fresh blood was dripping off her fingernails, when the other guards rushed into the clearing. Their eyes widened as they observed their bleeding and moaning comrades and a powerful witch standing among them in nonchalance, lost in her thoughts. Without the even slightest move, Merrill's eyes pierced the newcomers and one corner of her mouth twisted up.

The witch cried out. The mighty power had lifted her up a few inches and she spread her arms sideways gracefully. The elves were ensnared in Merrill's spell before they could do anything. They were all screaming wordlessly, but their pleading echoed in Merrill's mad mind only a little. She had come here with one purpose and one purpose only and they had just happened to stand in her way. A quiet, serene voice interrupted Merrill's rampage and she opened her eyes. They weren't green anymore, they were radiant deep red clefts with no humanity within them.

Merrill felt the grass beneath her bare feet again and saw Marethari standing in front of her. The Dalish pariah was panting now and quivering as she glanced around. Twitching bodies were scattered around the whole clearing. Merrill's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't feel sorry.

"They aren't dead, Keeper!" Merrill poked the nearest elf with her toe. "They are just… half-dead." Merrill finished her clumsy statement and lowered her head under Marethari's scrutiny.

"Come with me, d'alen." Keeper's calm voice was accompanied by a raised hand.

Merrill was expecting anything but this. Nevertheless, she didn't dare tempt her luck now, and she moved obediently in the pointed direction. Their journey out of the camp was silent. Marethari stopped abruptly and turned to the ashamed and confused Merrill.

"I can't imagine the reason you would come here, Merrill, but I intend to listen to you, for you were my First once. So speak, d'alen." Marethari's voice was uneasy.

Merrill was fidgeting now, trying to muster her courage.

"I… I came here… I need your help, Keeper." Merrill's hoarse voice cracked and a single tear fell down her cheek, but she didn't notice.

"Help, d'alen? You've just attacked half of your own clan and you would dare to ask for my help? Your own people, Merrill! How could you…"

"MY people, Keeper? I have NO people, Marethari, you took care of that three years ago. Don't you dare throw that guilt into my face! Not after you banished me and left me in Kirkwall to die of a broken heart!" Merrill's eyes were sparkling with wrath and suppressed memories. "No, Keeper. I have only one man now I can call mine." Merrill laughed mirthlessly, clenching her already disheveled hair. Again, she forbid herself to think, she might have no man right now.

Marethari had fallen silent after Merrill's outburst, giving the pariah and herself a chance to calm down. She had never tried to hide the love she had for her First, and her exile had broken her, as well as Merrill. But Merrill didn't know this. The young pariah decided to break the awkward silence.

"I am sorry, Keeper. I didn't come here to… I didn't mean to… Please, just hear me out." Merrill's imploring voice made Marethari shudder and she nodded at Merrill to let her know she listened to her, for now, so Merrill continued.

"I didn't come here to complain or to tell you, how I felt about leaving the clan. I… somebody… somebody I love was taken from me. He's hurt, probably. And he was poisoned by a very powerful substance. Shems don't know the cure. They call it the Belial's Breath. So I thought… I came here to…" Merrill opened her mouth, but no sound came out of it. There was no need anyway, Marethari finished her demand for her.

"So you came here to ask for the cure to save him." Marethari searched Merrill's worried face.

"Is he an elf, Merrill? Marethari's question was clear and Merrill was determined to lie, but Marethari's calm face unarmed her. And there was no need to say it out loud anyway, since Marethari saw the answer written in Merrill's eyes.

"You are risking your life for a shemlen? How could you forget who you are, Merrill? You are still Dalish and you shouldn't…"

Merrill interrupted her. "Yes, he's a human, Keeper. And I don't regret a second I've ever spent with him."

Marethari considered the defiant and rude words and folded her thin arms on her chest.

"Why do you think the Dalish possess the power to cure this poison, when the humans failed?"

Merrill frowned and snapped back at the Keeper.

"We both know that the treacherous humans have underestimated the power of the elvhenan for centuries now. Too blind to notice, too vain to learn, too proud to look down at us. And we both know this attitude had served us well in the end, since the secrets of the Dalish people are still hidden and well-guarded. And yet we allow shems to spit at us, enslave us, use us."

Merrill's eyes looked old and distant when she spoke about her people's plight. In fact, she was sure the Keeper could help her and save Samael. It was just the matter of convincing her to do so. The distraught Merrill was watching Marethari now, waiting impatiently for her reply. The Keeper just shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, as Merrill fell on her knees, too exhausted, too oppressed to stand. She raised her martyred eyes to look into Marethari's ancient and wise face.

"Please… Please, Keeper. I… I have nothing but him. Don't let them take the only good thing in my life from me. Please… Just save him. If you decide I should die tonight for my deeds, I shall submit. But save him. Please save him…" Merrill's voice cracked and she lowered her head in utter anguish. She was surprised when she felt the Keeper's hand on her head.

Marethari kneeled beside her and whispered,

"I will save him, d'alen. For you. For the love I have for you since you came to me all those years ago. But I have to warn you, expect nothing more from me. If you ever come here again, I won't be able to stay my hand and I will be forced to kill you myself."

Marethari's choked words were most unexpected, and Merrill took a deep breath in relief.

They both stood and the Keeper pushed Merrill gently down the path back to the camp. The Keeper disappeared into her tent for long minutes as Merrill stood outside, motionless. When Marethari reappeared, she held a black onyx flacon in her hand. Merrill's eyes were locked on that little thing, shining dimly in the moonlight. After a moment of hesitation, the Keeper held the flacon towards Merrill. Merrill kneeled again and took the black vial, whispering gratefully, "Thank you." Any other words seemed needless.

"You took a dark path, Merrill. I can see you are falling into the abyss of blood magic. Aa' menlen nauva C'alen ar' ta elvhenan'min e' ale'quenle. An Old God of the elvhenan dwells in your soul, Merrill. Don't throw away a gift that was given to you. You are wielding an immense power now, but only Creators know if this path leads you to magnificence or oblivion.

Marethari bowed and put a pale hand on Merrill's head.

"Go, d'alen. Save your human. We won't meet again in this world. Sílo Anor bo men lín."

Merrill kissed the hand she loved so much and a single silver tear fell on it. Then she vanished into the darkness, gripping the precious flacon with both her hands.

oOo

Drunk, Fenris was stumbling through his mansion, pulling the cork of a huge wine bottle out with his sharp teeth. In his other hand he held the necks of three other bottles and it seemed the elf would drop them all on the stone floor if Varric hadn't jumped up and snatched them.

"Drink, abomination. Drink to the one who has fallen into shadows."

Fenris placed a full glass in front of Anders who was hiding his face in palms. The mage had no strength to quarrel over the way Fenris had addressed him. He just uncovered his reddish swollen eyes and sipped the wine. Fenris sank down next to him, gulping down the bottle he held.

Varric was holding a sobbing Isabela on his chest, patting her hair and making soothing noises. His eyes were distant and his mouth warped into a twisted line. Nobody felt like talking. Only amount of alcohol consumed showed their grief over their lost leader and friend.

Nobody had moved when a beseeching knock on the front door came. Silence, then stubborn hammering on the door.

"Venhedis! Fasta Vass! Bugger off, whoever is there!" Fenris yelled, glowing.

"You're always so… welconen… welcoming…" Isabela stumbled over her heavy tongue.

The door was flung open and Merrill dashed inside. They all turned to her, squinting at dried blood smeared all over her, her disheveled hair and red, barely sane eyes.

"Good, you're all here…" Merrill breathed out, stalking to them.

"Daisy? Where have you gone, girl, we were so worried about you when you cut and ran…"

"Some of us were concerned, witch, but certainly not my glistening elven ass…" Fenris belched, but held a bottle towards the fellow elf. Merrill shook her head, slamming her tiny fists onto the table.

"LISTEN TO ME!" She said it with such an authority and despair they all fell silent, watching her in suspense.

"I need you to…. Well…I'll just say it. I need you to kidnap that Guardsman Donnic. Isabela, you've said something about Aveline making eyes at him, right? Isabela arched an eyebrow and burst out, laughing.

"Aaaaah, our… hiccup… innocent Kitten has… hiccup… grown up finally? Oh my… "

Merrill grimaced and turned to more usable companions. She observed a broody elf prone to murderous episodes, a hunched mage infected with a Fade spirit and a downhearted story-teller.

"LOOK AT ME! I'm saying I need your help and I need it right now! If you love Samael, if only a little bit, you will help me. And I need you to drag Donnic here right now and keep him here no matter what. Understood?" Merrill shouted at them, and yes, her eyes REALLY were red. They were able to see that even through the wine mist when she had close enough.

Samael's name worked though. She had their full attention and they all had questions, but Merrill vanished into the night. Dawn was near. The journey back from the Sundermount had cost her precious time.

Fenris, stretching, turned to Varric with a slow-witted expression.

"Who the hell is Donnic?"

"Well, I don't know, Broody, but if I were him, I would be shaking under the bed right now, because we are so coming for this guy," Varric replied and stood up, rubbing his hands.

oOo

Aveline was sitting on the bed, upset, her eyes roaming around the large, almost empty room. Only a few necessary pieces of furniture; a bed, a table, a closet filled with uniforms and weapons and a copper washbasin with a mirror hanging above it. She was only sleeping here, so no need to get this place looking like actual home… right?

Aveline sighed, knowing she was just making excuses. The truth was she was just surviving day by day, haunting the barracks, doing her job. Nothing more, overlooking occasional jobs with Samael. And she couldn't allow her name and status to become connected with an infamous mercenary anymore, so even this little distraction was forbidden to Aveline.

The image of Samael's body… Swirling down on the dirt with the blades still in his hands, where he stayed lying… Motionless… Oblivious to her shouting when she gathered him in her arms. Aveline shivered, unable to get the scene out of her head.

She had called the best healers she had available, they did all they could, only to report to her there was something lurking in Samael's body, stealing the heat of his blood and pushing his life quickly to an inevitable end. They had given him a day to live, tops.

Aveline jumped up and started pacing through the big darkened room. Was the balcony door open when she had arrived here an hour ago? Oh, it didn't matter. She had to figure out, what to do about Samael. Maybe try to call on some Tevinter mages? Aveline reached the washbasin and leaned on it with hanging head. Then she slowly raised it, studying her haggard face in the mirror.

_Oh, Weasley, why did you have to leave me like that? I'm so, so miserable. So…lonely. I have nothing beside my job. Nothing at all and now I've lost my only friends too._

Aveline's eyebrows were twisting in the mirror and she saw long suppressed tears standing in her eyes. It was at that moment when she noticed her face wasn't the only one in the mirror. Before she could do anything, she felt the affectionate touch of a blade on her throat. She now recognized that pale face in silver moonlight, those blazing, once green eyes, piercing her with poorly hidden hatred. A hoarse voice slashed the silence.

"I believe you have something of mine, Guards-Captain."

Aveline winced at that venomous voice full of hostility and scorn.

"I would like to have it back, if you don't mind."

The pariah tightened the grasp on her blade, awaiting Aveline's attempt to free herself. And Aveline really tried to do so as a response to Merrill's threats, but the witch was ready.

A well-aimed kick into Aveline's popliteal ligaments knocked her down on the floor for the second time that night. Merrill yanked her back to her feet by her hair, pushing the blade onto her neck again, nicking her this time to show she wasn't playing games.

They were gazing at each other through the mirror once again.

"Don't… test… me… Aveline! Do you know what a Dalish elf does, if he's scared and doesn't know what to do?" Merrill hissed into Aveline's ear.

Aveline wasn't sure, if Merrill expected any answer, but it seemed she did, so she just popped out one choked word, "No."

"He kills every silly shemlen around just to be sure he won't be running to the nearest village for help to drive the whole clan away. Old habits die hard, and I'm scared shitless tonight, Guards-Captain, so don't push me further."

Aveline was involuntarily ensnared by Merrill's eyes burning with an insane fire. She gave up another escape attempt at once. The pariah wasn't far from cutting her throat, obviously.

"Where is he?" Merrill growled, running out of patience.

"He is… he's in a cell. The healers have tended to his injuries, but… Merrill…I've been told…they said he's dying and they can do nothing about it." Two big tears rolled down Aveline's cheeks, but Merrill just sneered at Aveline's despair.

_Samael is alive. Of course he is alive, I knew it already, right? Creators, he's alive…_

The witch traced the scar on Aveline's cheek with a finger and a cruel knowing smile ran across her lips. She was able to recognize Samael's work when she saw it. Their eyes again locked in the mirror.

"Send two guards to carry him back to his mansion. Send them NOW, Guards-Captain. And no foul tricks, Aveline, if you want to see that pathetic suitor of yours again.

"DONNIC? What have you done to him, you mad maleficar?" Aveline shrieked in utter horror.

"Me? I didn't do him anything, Guards-Captain. But Fenris is babysitting him right now and I do hope Donnic is on his best behavior. We both know Fenris, right? He might just kill him if he's bored…" Merrill laughed mirthlessly, without any remorse.

"Can't you see what you've become, Merrill? You're an insane monster! A blood mage! An uncontrollable apostate! Don't you see what you've turned into since you've decided to stay with Samael? He has plagued you with his madness and…"

Aveline's prattle was interrupted with a sharp fingernail, jabbed into her fresh scar. Aveline yowled in pain.

"Oh yes, insane indeed, Guards-Captain. You have no idea what I've been through tonight, Guards-Captain. But I'm not alone anymore. Unlike you."

Those two last words were like a punch to Aveline's stomach. She felt that the cold blade was no longer on her neck, but she wasn't done with Merrill.

"You are being foolish, Merrill, if you think he would stay with you. The day will come and you WILL regret saving his life. He will hurt you. And again, and again. Then he will leave you." Aveline's lecturing voice filled the silence. She didn't know if there was anybody to listen, but a husky voice replied, somewhere by the window.

"I know. But I love him. Maybe the day will come, when YOU will understand, what it's like, Aveline."

"I know very well, what love means, don't you dare judge me, little girl…" Aveline sputtered out, but there was nobody to reply this time.


	17. Chapter 17

_Spinning faces, a dead kitten which a little Bethany had killed accidentally with her magic, a wooden rocking horse swinging by itself in the darkened empty room, a desire demon with Merrill's face, a naked Fenris wielding his greatsword, beheading Anders, a tattooed hand lightning up a cigar…_

Samael stirred.

One veiled eye opened.

_What the hell…? Where are my thirteen virgins and thirteen urchins?_

The second eye came unstuck, squinting around in the dim glare of the starving fire.

_I would swear I made a perfect swan pirouette and ate some dirt when I hit the ground._

Samael's little finger twitched.

_I'm… not supposed to be here. Fuck the Maker's ass, Samael, you're not supposed to be here anymore?_

There were pins and needles in his legs as Samael waved his toes and brushed his forehead with the weak fingers. A soft moan beside him let him know he wasn't alone. Merrill was curled into a breathing bundle, sleeping right next to him. The blanket was crumpled and coiled around her legs and Samael noticed she wore his black tunic with a golden hawk embroidered on the right breast. She looked like a snuggled fawn… all right, a painted snuggled fawn.

_Huh. I mean… what? I remember fighting with the Templars, Aveline's stunned face, the Pincushion, I mean Charon… The Belial's Breath crawling in my veins… I fell down… And nothing. Darkness took me. A one-way trip to purgatory._

"Samael?" Merrill's sleepy eyes weren't even open properly as she threw herself on top of him, kissing him, kissing him thoroughly like never before.

_Well, at least I've got one virgin…_

Samael pressed his smiling mouth on hers, cupping her face, intending to stare at that beloved tiny creature until Death took him… _for the third time_… but Merrill buried herself under Samael's blanket, biting his ear.

… _a very horny virgin!_

Samael was conveniently naked under the blanket and he hoped Merrill had enjoyed herself as she undressed him and pawed his sleeping body. But Merrill's ferocity and despair… the way she was clinging to him… something ominous had happened while he was out.

"Merrill? Wh…"

A vicious kiss shut him up, painted fingernails jabbing into his torso.

"Merrill, stop." Samael breathed out, trying to hold her away to search her face. Yes. Something was definitely very, very wrong. But Merrill was struggling as if in a fever, not willing to break her hold.

"STOP!"

Samael was frightened now. It came to him in a second. He should be dead. But he wasn't. Somebody had done something to keep him alive. And that somebody was now trying to attack his left nipple. He wanted to lift her chin and look into her eyes, but Merrill struck his raised hand and hid them with her palm.

"Damn it, Samael, make love to me! Why do you always have to complicate everything?"

Merrill wasn't far from a breakdown. Her imprisonment in the Gallows, the poisoning, her journey to Sundermount, fighting her former clan mates, the emotional exhaustion after talking to Marethari, only to end up in Aveline's room, threatening her and making her to hand over Hawke… it all swooped upon her. But she had saved him. That was the only thing that mattered to her. And, Creators, she needed him, she needed his touch, she needed to feel him inside of her, just to make sure she was still an elf, still a being able to feel something, anything, even after what she had done.

Samael snatched her chin and forced her to look at him. His hand hung down and his eyes widened as he observed her savage, deep red eyes, gazing at him in defiance. He had encountered those eyes before, oh yes. The blood mages had the same feral crimson eyes before Samael chopped their heads off. There was a long silence when Samael dared not speak, and Merrill, still straddling him, stared into the fireplace. He sighed finally, pulling her down so their faces were almost touching, encircling her in his arms.

"What have you done?" He whispered, but as he continued, his voice was becoming furious and the assassin ended up shouting and shaking the poor elf to get the truth out of her.

"What was the price for saving my life, hm, little pariah? Were you Quentin's secret apprentice? Elves who can heal death or perhaps some nice, completely harmless consorting with a demon? TELL ME! OR…" He tightened his grasp, ready for the worst, which was a reply saying that Merrill was the oven of some filthy Fade creature.

"I don't want to talk about it," Merrill hissed through her clenched teeth. "LET GO OF ME!" Merrill took advantage of his weakness, throwing his hands off of her, and then she was gone, leaving her confused lover alone.

oOo

Merrill had sent word to each friend, not knowing if they knew what had happened. She remembered the latest events; her second visit at Fenris' mansion after she had left Aveline's room. She had let herself in, upset, when nobody answered her knocking, only to learn everybody was stuck in the elf's wine cellar, dead drunk and roaring in laughter about a Wicked Grace round. She heard Donnic's rusty voice and relaxed. Not wanting to disturb them, not able to face their questions, she just left a note for Varric to let Donnic go.

Then she rushed to the Hawke estate. Samael was already there and the guards had left the mansion as soon as she arrived. His breathing was almost imperceptible, his lips were bloodless, his body was turning blue and the veins were prominent and almost black. Merrill gulped down the tears and administrated Marethari's antidote, praying it wasn't too late. She closed her eyes in concentration and applied her hands on his torso, channeling all her remaining power to send the healing geyser through his withering body. She wasn't aware she was whispering to him.

"Fight, Samael. Come on, ma vhenan, fight. Leave the deceitful Fade paths. Hear my voice and come back to the light. Breth'il, Samael, serindë im anduinal, breth'il."

She didn't know how long she stayed in that position before she joined her lover in the Fade.

But that was yesterday. Samael's ungrateful outburst after his awakening hurt her deeply, but she knew his curiosity, and even anger, were justified. She just didn't feel like talking about it all, but she couldn't suppress the consequences of her deeds forever. She would have to cope with the fact that she had almost killed her former brethren in a blind rage, she had tortured to death a mage, and wasn't far from killing a friend. She felt unclean, marked by the stigma of blood magic forever. That her eyes had so far refused to gain their original color wasn't reassuring either.

Not knowing how else she could relieve the sorrow wallowing in her mind, Merrill hid herself in the guest room and curled up on the fur rug in front of the silent fireplace, crying herself to sleep, hoping, her assassin would come to her. Nobody came.

oOo

Samael only remembered their popped eyes from Varric and Isabela's visit, Varric's unbelieving poke into his shoulder and Bela's attempt to look under the blanket to verify Samael's identity by checking on his… virility.

The second they left Samael's bedroom, Anders rushed in. He had obviously been pacing outside and waiting impatiently for the rogues' departure. Samael noticed the mage looked awful; dirty clothes, amorphous hay instead of his appealing goldish hair and swollen bags under his tired eyes.

"You look… like a piece of Darktown shit, mage." Once again, Samael really should learn when to keep his mouth shut.

Anders just stood there, piercing the assassin sitting on the bed with a yearning glare.

"Yes, it's still me, charming as ever… An… Anders." Samael stumbled over the mage's name, getting nervous under the burning scrutiny.

Anders practically ran to the bed and sat down, facing the surprised assassin and searching his face in unspoken prayer. Only his quivering lower lip, lowered eyebrows and heaving chest let Samael know that a battle was raging inside of the silent mage.

"It's… it's all right, Anders. I'm all right," were Samael's quiet, hesitant words.

_Uhm… Maker, why did I say that?_

He was clueless why, but this silly mage and his somebody-drowned-my-kitten expression always managed to catch him off guard. Unsettled, Samael let his hand slip around Anders' neck and pulled him gently closer to place a peck on his forehead.

_Andraste's giant butt cheeks, Samael, what are you doing? Maybe the experience of Death sniffing your ass is still clouding your judgement? Yes, that must be it._

The assassin pushed Anders slowly away and glimpsed a smothered smile on his face. A quiet knock on the door interrupted their interlude. Merrill brought a platter filled with delicious steaming food and set it down on the night table, desperately avoiding Samael's inquiring eyes.

It was at that moment that they heard the front door crash open and Sandal's squeak followed by hasty stomping on the staircase. Fenris stormed into the bedroom and Samael received yet another blazing glare.

"Piss off, fucking mages!" Fenris lashed out at both Merrill and Anders.

"Come on, Fenris, be nice." Samael squirmed in the bed and gave the glowing elf a faint smile. Fenris shot a glance at the rogue from under his cow-like eyelashes and bowed like Samael's wish was his order.

"Leave the room, fucking mages!"

Samael just rolled his eyes about this 'corrected' statement, climbed out of bed and whispered something to Anders, who nodded and left, dragging a fuming Merrill with him.

The assassin felt uneasy under Fenris' scrutiny, not sure what should he say. He was supposed to be dead, they had said farewell to each other, and yet Samael was standing here, confused about Fenris' expression. He wasn't even sure if Fenris was glad or upset about his resurrection. The elven warrior broke the awkward silence; his voice stabbed the rogue like an icicle. "I see you didn't understand the suggestion 'meet me in the next life', Samael."

Samael tried to smile, but failed. "I'm that wicked that hell itself chewed on me and spit me out. I'm sorry I disappointed you. If you're willing, you can give it a shot and send me back."

"Oh yes, I'm willing to give it a shot." Fenris growled and pinned Samael to the wall. Samael wanted to object, but Fenris silenced him with a fierce kiss. The elf anticipated lots of reactions, but not the one that included Samael crushing him in his arms and demanding an entry to his mouth with his tongue.

Well… access granted.

Fenris deepened the kiss, raking through Samael's waterfall of thick hair. When they finally stopped smooching, Samael slipped his arms around the elf's hips, Fenris supporting himself on the wall with his elbows, trapping the rogue between arms that were radiating heat. They let their foreheads lean on each other. Samael had no idea how long they stayed in this position, then Fenris searched his eyes with an odd urgency, breaking the reverent silence with his hoarse voice. "I thought I'd lost you."

Samael didn't reply, just squeezed the elf gently. He thought the kiss would confuse him, but it didn't. He still loved Merrill with a deep devotion, but he couldn't deny his feelings for this peculiar elf either. He loved him in a very distinctive way, considering him as his brother. Well… brothers do kiss each other, right? All right, maybe not, but it didn't matter. Fenris understood Samael in a way that Merrill never could, and for some reason Fenris found himself in need of somebody like Samael. It was even more odd since both preferred women over men. But Samael wouldn't spoil this special bond they had by labeling it. It was what it was, and he intended to be grateful for it, not question it.

They didn't have to use words to express their feelings. That was what women were doing all the time, not knowing how many men were driven to seek comfort in the arms of other men by their constant soppy talking and 'I love you' yammering.

The silence between them was more than satisfying; it was sacred.

oOo

Bodahn took very good care of his recuperating Master; perhaps too much so. Later that day, Samael sent the vigilant dwarf to the market and fled the bed, looking for Merrill. The dwarf found his fully-dressed Master sitting in the armchair, but he skipped the reprimand about staying in bed when he observed Samael's face half-hidden in his palms, confused, concerned, angered about Merrill's absence.

_Is this the feeling that devoured my invincible composure… remorse? Huh, that's certainly new for me. I shouldn't have snapped at her like that. She saved me. I shouldn't have… But how did she do it? Why did she to it?_

The assassin jumped up, and despite the dwarf's objection, left the mansion, intending to find her. They needed to talk. A lot. But another problem needed to be solved first.

oOo

Aveline wasn't surprised when she found Samael in her locked office, lounging in her never used armchair, carving something into the armrest with a dagger.

"If you came to threaten me, attack me with a knife or kidnap me, you needn't bother, Hawke. You're woman covered that for you." Aveline's bitter voice cracked and she hid her face behind the guard's report.

Samael wasn't fooled by her pretended indifference, but he felt uneasy as well. Maybe even more so, since, Maker knew, he was an insufferable prick most of the time. Aveline had been with him from the beginning, never leaving his side although she was often furious about his many ill deeds. He had definitely pushed her away in the sewers though, hurting her deeply, when he tried to… well, not kill her, no. All right, maybe a little. But she should have been more of a friend and less of a mimsy Guards-Captain! But it didn't matter, he hadn't come here to fight over who was more to blame for their dissension. Definitely Aveline, if you asked Samael, but again, it didn't matter now.

"Guards-Captain… first, where's Charon?" Samael's fear about his mabari was obvious and Aveline wasn't so malicious as to toy with him when he was anxious and afraid.

"He's at the Guards' kennels, Hawke, don't worry. He's alive, but he only eats a little and refuses to leave his pen. Go take him and say I sent you."

Despite everything Aveline was still herself; honest, frank and… stiff. Samael nodded, relieved, considering his next words carefully.

"Captain…"

"Hawke…"

They both spoke at the same time, glancing at each other. They'd studied each other for a long time without words and they came to an understanding, their lips hesitantly curling in shy smiles. They both had their flaws, but their three-year friendship bested the differences between them.

Aveline put an already neat pile of papers in order, saying to a bookcase, filled with boring Kirkwall laws no doubt, "Hanged Man tonight?

"But you're buying, Guards-Cap… Aveline."

They burst into laughter and Samael intended to leave, through the door this time, when Aveline's quiet voice stopped him. "Hawke?"

"Yes?"

Aveline had a hard time finding the proper words. "You know… nothing will be the same. We can't undo what we did. But what I want to say, I'll have to keep an eye on Merrill, she's a dangerous apostate and it would be too perilous to have her running around much longer. And after her impressive visit, she…" From Samael's expression Aveline realized he had no clue what she was talking about.

Upset, Samael bowed to Aveline and trotted to pick up his mabari. The dog was resting in the kennel, without interest in anything. Samael slipped inside, only to be greeted by low menacing growl. The bloody dog didn't honor him with even the subtlest glance.

"That's how you address your resurrected master, Charon? Tsk, worthless mongrel. I knew I should have drowned you."

Charon twitched at the familiar voice, jumped up and sniffed him carefully, nudging his muzzle into Samael when he recognized his scent. Samael sank down next to him, letting him lick his ear and cheek. They sat there for an hour in a loose hug, then Samael stood up and patted the mabari's head.

"Your loyalty and bravery during my last stand at the Gallows will be rewarded, mabari. We are equal now. Come, Charon. Let's go home."

They left the kennels, bouncing around each other. The Kennel-Master just glanced at them, shaking his head, muttering something about reckless boys and their mangy beasts.


	18. Chapter 18

The Dalish pariah was curled into a stolid huddle in a corner of her alienage house fingering the colorful mug shards around her. The interior was shattered from her previous rampage and she now smashed what was left. Samael's mug was crushed into the red dust, but even the dust was intolerable, so Merrill dispersed it all around. She felt empty, invincible, like nothing worse could happen to her. Misunderstood and pushed aside by the only person she cared for. And oh yes, she _had_ noticed the way Fenris and Anders had been looking at their leader lately. The pain was even worse since she knew she had saved Samael's life, again, and only got prodding questions and mistrust instead of a simple expression of his gratitude. An expression of gratitude like… having a great sex. Merrill felt like she was standing at the edge of a chasm, knowing she had to jump, but also knowing her wings were clipped.

A sudden stabbing sensation in her underbelly let her know who was approaching the house. She had no intention of facing him right now while she was so broken, so unstable and so irritated.

_By the Dread Wolf! Go away, Samael! He comes here to further show his gratitude for being alive, no doubt. And I have no staff! Too weak to use blood magic either…_

Merrill cursed, crouching in the dark corner and wondering if there was a possibility that Samael would just walk away if she asked him to. Well, she still had Samael's knife and she was determined to defend herself if that ungrateful human dared lay a finger on her again. She would not be abused, not after what she had done for him.

The assassin crashed the dingy door open, not bothering to knock, and observed the wrecked interior of the wrecked house with a cold demeanor. His wrath and determination to learn the truth were radiating from him, but when he saw her skinny defiant face in the middle of the destruction, her tattered and probably only armor, his anger vaporized. The debris crunched under his boots as he strolled to the corner and sank down next to her, silent, not looking at her. But it was too late for a placid reconciliation. Merrill was pushed far beyond that point.

"Why are you here, HUMAN?"

_H… What… Hu… Did she just call me a human? That's… new._

She had never called him anything other than Hawke or Samael. Her bitter and resentful voice squeezed his heart, but his pride refused to allow him to be the only villain here.

"I believe… you owe me a few answers… ELF." If she wanted it this way, he would happily oblige her. He didn't realize he had just shoved her over the chasm's edge.

Merrill jumped up, no longer able to keep her anger and sorrow quiet. Her soul had been screaming in pain and fear for hours now. She snapped at the assassin, welcoming this opportunity to let out the anguish she felt. "You know what? GO AHEAD! I don't care, go ahead, blame me, threaten me, hit me, kick me, ignore me! I do not care! You all call me a monster anyway! I hunted you down, trying to make you see how I felt about you, endured your insults, your moods, saved your shemlen ass twice, only to be questioned all the time! I'm SICK of it! You know what? You don't deserve me!"

Samael jumped up as well and his temper blew. He had no idea the ghastly shape the pariah was in or why. He didn't yell at her, oh no, but his low menacing growl was much worse than that.

"Save this drama for someone who cares, Merrill! I came here for the answers and you are going to give them to me! So what did you do? ANSWER ME!"

"ARGH! Attention everyone! Samael wants something! Samael needs something!" She threw her arms in the air and laughed mirthlessly at the top of her voice.

Oh yes, Merrill was losing it. Skittering around the room, kicking the shards, punching the walls, cursing, crying, hitting herself when she wanted to underline her words. Samael was completely taken aback by her violent effusion and he was now standing in the middle of the room, his head hanging and arms loose alongside his body.

"Here! TAKE IT!" Half-mad, Merrill put the knife in the assassin's hand, raising it across her own throat so viciously she would have slashed it if Samael hadn't stopped her.

"Take it! DO IT! Just one more cut, brave assassin! You do it all the time, murdering mages, blood mages, Templars, whatever moves, so come on, shemlen! Coward! Why didn't you do it today in bed after I fulfilled my purpose and saved your worthless life? Were you afraid, Bodahn wouldn't be able to clean the blood stains off your precious duvet? So here, just finish it already! Am I that different from the other blood mages you've killed? Now I even have the red eyes, LUCKY ME! I'm a blood mage, Samael, an elven blood mage and you know what? I'm proud of it! It's devouring me, corrupting me, I no longer recognize myself, but I'M PROUD OF IT!"

Standing there in awe, Samael had no clue what was happening. Her screeching was cutting through him like a machete. He just managed to whisper, "Stop it… Merrill. Stop it. You're killing me… Maker, you're killing me…"

"You've killed me a hundred times, Samael Hawke! I HATE YOU! Creators, I hate you! Throw that knife of yours, but make sure you pierce my heart, or I swear I will kill you myself!"

Provoked by her insults and insane screaming, Samael gripped the knife tight, feeling his own awakened demons plaguing his mind. He let out a savage roar and… threw the knife.

"See? I CAN'T! I'm not able to harm you, let alone kill you! Maker knows how many times I've tried to do it! To get rid of you, get rid of this weakness I have because of you! You are everything I've been taught not to do! BUT… I… SIMPLY… CAN'T! You will be the death of me!" The room was still resounding with Samael's mighty shouts as he stumbled backwards and hit the wall, his hands raking through his long hair in despair.

The sobbing pariah observed the knife stuck in the wall, right next to her head, and collapsed. Only her incoherent feverish ramble resonated in the small room now. "I'm… an elf… I'm… Merrill… I'm not… a monster… I don't… I won't… Who am I… I'm Merrill… Dalish… blood mage… I can't… please…"

Her heartbreaking wails crushed him. And with that Samael started to understand that he wasn't Merrill's only problem, by far. Stalking to her, he dropped down next to her and gathered her in his arms. She struggled, but he held her tight until she gave in, clasping his jerkin, clinging to him like a frightened fledgling seeking safety. Her words died away, but they remained entwined. The silence was interrupted only by her soft dissipating sobs.

_Creators, don't let him leave me, please, make him stay, make him stay with me, I need him, I'm not a monster, I can't be alone again, Creators, don't let him leave me…_

It was like Samael had heard her whirling thoughts, since his quiet voice was echoing her prayers.

"I'm here, my little pariah… I'm not going anywhere… I'm right here…"

oOo

It was dark when Samael stood up and pulled Merrill to her unsteady feet. He could see she desperately wanted to be alone now and he wasn't sure if he would ever see her again, not after what she had said. He was upset as well, but he would have preferred to take her with him to his mansion, not leave her here in these ruins. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he still had the right to ask anything of her, anything at all. His voice was quavering when he spoke and he hated himself for that. "I… I will be waiting for you at my estate. If you don't come I will understand and respect your wishes. You won't ever see me again."

Samael felt like saying a hundred other things, but he just couldn't. Merrill's head was hanging and she obviously wasn't even able to look at him.

There was deafening silence. Samael longed to touch her, to hear a single word from her, but when she found her voice again, he wished she would have stayed silent forever.

"Leave me, Hawke."

After a while, when had she mustered the courage to look up, smearing the tears on her face, she realized the assassin was already gone and that the shabby door of her house was yawning at her in her solitude.

oOo

"Quenya, somebody's coming!" The Dalish elves jumped up and clasped the hilts of their sheathed swords.

"State your business, stranger!" The eldest elf stepped forward and his eyes narrowed as the cloaked figure pulled back the hood, revealing blazing dark amber eyes, black tattoos and long, black hair, reflecting dimly in the moonlight. The elf spotted another silhouette at the tree line. A huge bristling mabari dog was approaching slowly with a dark snarl, daring them to draw a sword.

"Shemlens have no business here, stranger. Go away and we might forget you've wandered here… this time." The eldest elf intended to shove the intruder away to make his statement clear, but something in the stranger's eyes made him snatch the hand back and he fell silent.

"Shut your mouth, elf. I came here to speak with Marethari, not to play hide-and-seek with her minions. Tell her Hawke is asking her for an audience." Samael knew he had to stay calm and behave if he wanted to reach the Keeper. His name worked though, and soon enough Quenya was leading him through the camp to the largest fire where the Keeper and hunters sat.

"Leave us," the Keeper's kind voice addressed the other elves, who mutely followed her order. Samael noticed that they were beaten up, scarred, limping, and heard them whispering to each other something aboutAsha_'_bellanar, shemlens and Kirkwall behind his back. He was grateful for the fire, since the autumn air was crisp and he only had a light cloak.

Marethari came to Charon and to the rogue's surprise the mabari whined softly, poked her with his muzzle and lowered his head. The Keeper bowed back, not touching the beast.

"Andaran atish'an, Hawke. I didn't see you coming, but you are always welcome among the Dalish." Marethari's bright, liquid eyes pierced him and Samael felt like she had learnt everything about him with that one brief glance.

"Keeper… I… I came to ask you about Merrill." Samael's uneasy voice cracked and he gazed into the flames, wondering what he was doing here.

There was silence, only interrupted by the droning fire. Samael dared not speak nor look at Marethari and Marethari was studying him for a long time before she answered.

"I see. So it's you, Hawke." Marethari fell silent again, like this short statement was the whole answer Samael had come for. When she saw his arched eyebrow, she continued. "She came here because of you. I can feel fading traces of Merrill's magic within you. You were the reason why she came here, attacked the guards when they refused to let her pass, and asked me for an antidote to save you."

Again, Marethari's inquisitive glare caught him, and he was only able to nod and lower his head, nothing more. Ashamed, Samael didn't see Marethari's ancient face melt. He only looked up when she stood right in front of him, taking his cold hands into hers.

"You are deeply troubled, child. Your past haunts you and your future scares you. It's time for you to acknowledge that not everything is in your hands." Marethari's quiet voice was echoing in his head as he felt his hair waving in the mildly chilling breeze.

A brown dead leaf fell into Samael's open palm and Marethari closed it with both of her pale hands. "Sometimes you have to let one part of your soul die," Marethari touched his chest with her vellum-like fingers, "so a new part can be born." Marethari opened his palm and a blue butterfly was sitting there, waving its fragile wings.

Astonished, Samael stared in rapture at the beautiful tiny creature until it flew away. Marethari stepped back, watching him, and Samael whispered, when their eyes met, "Please, tell me. Tell me about Merrill."

Marethari smiled. "What do you want to know, Hawke?"

"Everything," Samael breathed out.

oOo

It had been a whole day since he had left Merrill in her devastated house. It was evening again and Samael paced around the estate for a while, then tried to read, but threw the book away after twenty seconds, unable to focus. He wanted to relieve his tension with physical activity and pulled out a new beautifully crafted pair of daggers, bought from a Fereldan merchant.

Stripping his under tunic, he took a basic fighting pose, balancing the blades in his hands. Satisfied with the result, he started slowly working through the stance positions, the blades singing, cutting through the air. Samael's moves were becoming progressively faster and faster, until he was whirling around, moving smoothly from position to position, dodging the imaginary attacker with somersaults, jumps and cartwheels. He stopped abruptly, panting, cursing, then jabbed both weapons into the nearest wooden door.

_Face it, you idiot, she won't come. Your childish waiting is pointless. What happened at the Gallows…it should have never happened. Your whole plan was insane, you are insane. And only the Maker knows what exactly happened afterwards… what triggered Merrill's outburst last night. Marethari told me about the part at Sundermount,, so it obviously wasn't only about her short imprisonment and me being an ass after I woke up… she mentioned blood magic too. What was Aveline saying, damn it? Something about a kidnap, a knife attack and threats…Everything done for me and I drove her away. I've killed the purest thing I've ever had in my life. I so don't deserve her. She is right. How could I have thought for a minute that beautiful creature was mine? I'm the monster here…unworthy of someone like her. She won't come. I'm alone._

Samael shook his head and massaged his temples with the fingers.

He hadn't realized where he was going until he ended up standing in front of a dresser in his bedroom. With a resigned sigh he pulled out a small silver knife, not able to resist the temptation to end this pain he felt in his soul. He would be alone again. During his whole life he was attached to… well… nothing. And now she was in his life, and he had pushed her away like a stray cat… stray… cat… alone…

As he cut into the first scar, Samael hissed and slowly tilted his head back, finishing the precise cut. His frantic breathing refused to slow down. That frightened him. What had happened to his only tool to control the howling ghosts in his head? Maybe it just… wasn't enough?

Cutting into the second scar, Samael had to hold the knife with both his trembling hands to manage to slash the right line. A choked moan came out of his lips and he fell on the bed, staring at the ceiling in anticipation of the alleviation of suffering he craved. Nothing. Maybe he wasn't cutting deep enough then…?

Third scar. Arching his back, Samael howled and the pulsing pain clouded his mind, finally eliminating Merrill's face. His breathing deepened and slowed as he drifted off.

oOo

Creators! So was this going to happen every time she let Samael out of her sight?

Merrill was standing above her lover's dreaming body, observing the extensive blood stains on the blanket and the knife still loosely held in his palm. After his departure she had sat in her darkened house for three hours, letting the mute tears speak of her plight. Then she wandered through the woods outside of Kirkwall considering her situation, but she ended up thinking about Samael. She always ended up thinking about Samael. There was no point in pretending she could leave him, because she didn't want to and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to do it. She still felt the angst and doubt torturing her mind, but her outburst helped her vent her emotions and in the evening she found herself standing near the Hawke estate. She had no idea what she would tell him or if she would be welcomed there, but she didn't care.

And there he was, sleeping, his face looking peaceful, although the blood smeared on his torso and on the sheets was disturbing. Merrill traced his tattoos with a cold finger and smiled when he stirred and sighed. It took ten seconds for Samael to fully realize she was there right next to him, touching his lips softly with a breeze-like kiss, hesitating, waiting for any response from him. Samael returned the tender kiss, placing a shy arm around her waist, waiting to see if Merrill would allow it. When she moaned and stroked his bare chest, Samael let his other hand trace her figure before he wrapped his palm around her swan neck in a possessive gesture.

Not a word between them when they climbed out of bed, avoiding eye contact.

Not a word between them as Samael prepared a bath for her, meticulously washing her himself.

Not a word between them as he bandaged her wrist wounds from Sundermount and examined the fresh shallow nick on her throat that she had done to herself.

Samael was still dead curious about what had happened and why he was alive, but Merrill's breakdown forced him to sort his priorities out, and Merrill made it on the top of the list. The rogue remained silent, carrying her to the bedroom and laying her down on the bed with an odd gentleness Merrill had never experienced from him before. He was determined to leave the room and sleep elsewhere, not to pressure her about anything tonight. When he was snuggling her into the clean warm blanket, Merrill caught his arm. Samael arched an eyebrow, glancing at his trapped limb.

"Samael…?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Yes?" Anxious about what she had in mind, Samael let his head hang and his hair conveniently hid his face which was full of the fear that she would just send him away again. Perhaps forever.

"Could we… talk?" Merrill squirmed and set her desirous eyes on his face.

"Bed-time stories?" Samael's eyes met hers, his head cocked in anticipation. Merrill glimpsed an insecure smile curling a corner of his mouth.

"Better," she breathed out.

"Talk then. I'm listening." Samael lay down next to her with one arm folded under his head, slipping under the blanket. He wasn't sure if she wished him to touch her, but to his relief Merrill shifted and nestled her head on his shoulder, wrapping his free arm around her. He allowed himself to believe she hadn't rejected him entirely and that he wasn't as doomed as he had thought.

And Merrill talked. Not skipping any part of her story, sharing her thoughts and the darkest fears. Samael was a good listener; although parts of the story were so disturbing he was tugging at blanket and chewing on his cheek. When she had finished her narration, Samael was speechless and thoughtful.

_She… It can't be. She really set off to the Dalish for an antidote to cure the incurable, to do the unthinkable. She couldn't know if I was still alive, but she went anyway in blind faith. Then…a social call with Aveline. Judging by the Captain's description, Merrill was completely out of her mind by then, but she managed to get me into my mansion anyway…The antidote worked, I woke up, only to scold her, threaten her… To lose her. I should have died. Fenris was right; what's dead should stay dead._

Merrill needed him to speak, to evaluate her deeds, to sooth her, to yell at her. Anything but silence. She couldn't stand it anymore and blurted out, "Elgar'Nan! Say something! Please, just say anything!"

Samael gulped down his restlessness and shame and tried to give shape to his thoughts.

"What do you want me to say, Merrill? That I'm grateful for your saving me? Yes, Maker, yes, I am. That you shouldn't have attacked your clan? You probably shouldn't have. That you upset me with that little torturing stunt with Quentin? Fuck, you did. That you've made an obstinate enemy in Aveline? Maker knows you have. That I'm so proud of you, that you took a stand against your clan? So happy… I'm that important to you. That you've been through all this and you're still here? Because I am. You were right, I don't deserve you, but I will count with my charms to keep you by my side no matter what. I… should have begged for your forgiveness a long time ago, but I shall ask you for it now."

Samael forced her to look at him; she was still trying to hide her red eyes.

"Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I know what I've done. I know I've hurt you countless times. Let me rectify it, let me take care of you. You've taught me to dream, and that's all I could have ever dreamed of."

A single silent tear of felicity and relief was wandering down Merrill's face as she kissed him in reply, slowly, savoring his closeness, his scent that she had missed so much. Mixed emotions were whirling in her head: Samael's sincere apology that she craved to hear, the last of Aveline's words, Marethari's warning, her clan, calling her a monster…

Samael felt her disconnection and anxiety and broke the kiss, searching her face for a signal to stop, to leave her alone. Merrill wiped out his mute question with a desperate kiss, groaning his name. He tilted her head back and brushed his lips across her throat, licking the nick tenderly. Their clothes was soon scattered around and Merrill pushed her lover into the armchair, straddling him and connecting their bodies with one violent move. Samael gasped in pleasure and watched Merrill in amazement as she went limp right after she felt him inside of her. Something in Samael's head clicked and he felt complete again. They had no idea how long they sat there like that, tasting each other, Merrill slowly rocking and moaning as he explored her curves and blind alleys again and again.

Merrill opened her eyes and Samael let himself drown in their crimson depths, until Merrill breathed out, "Who am I?"

Confused, again scanning her martyred face, Samael whispered to her, "Merrill. You are Merrill of the Dalish."

Merrill closed her eyes, nodded, then shook her head and silver tears made their way down her cheeks. Samael kissed them away, not knowing what he was supposed to say. How to sooth a person who didn't wish to be soothed, but instead wished to be punished for her deeds?

"Who am I?" Merrill was sobbing as she again ensnared his gaze, but she was unwilling to stop their unusual lovemaking. Her moves were speeding up and the distraction didn't help Samael to think of a proper reply.

"Listen to me, silly witch! You're no monster… no monster, Merrill. Calm yourself… please, don't cry, little pariah…" Samael encircled her in his arms, stroking her back, but she pulled back, searching his face with despair like the answer was written there, when she cried out,

"WHO AM I?"

"You are Merrill Raena Estelwen, an elven child found in the Brecilian Forest, wrapped in a blanket carrying that name. Raised by the Keeper Marethari to take her place when the time comes. Merrill, who was banished from her clan for her beliefs and for blood magic. Merrill, who came into Kirkwall, making living, hiding herself from the Templars in the alienage. Merrill who ripped me twice from the jaws of Death. Merrill, whom I swore to love and protect no matter what… Look at me! It's still you, Merrill, even behind those red eyes. I still see you."

And she believed him. Snaking her arms behind him, she let him lift them both and stumbled to the bed. Samael lay her down and stared into her eyes as he entered her, whispering, "Look at me. Stay with me. Just… Stay."

oOo

The dawn was near, they were entwined together, too happy, too exhausted to sleep. No position seemed to be close enough for them. Merrill was drawing small circles with her finger on Samael's palm, amused by his ticklishness. A fearless warrior beatened down by… tickling.

Samael was ruminating about his life once more and his gaze slipped to a blue vase filled with beautiful flowers. Who put that crap on his dresser anyway? Must have been his… Merrill. Samael smiled and kissed her hair.

"You are staying here," Samael whispered suddenly. It wasn't a question and it wasn't an order either. It was just an accceptance of the fact.

Merrill's eyes lit up, meeting his eyes to persuade herself he really meant it. He grinned as he brushed her lips with a finger.

"Stop ogling me, green-eyed witch."

Merrill squeaked and ran, naked, for the mirror. Yes, her eyes were green again, with stars sparkling in them. Samael admired her figure for a while, then closed his eyes and yawned. Oh yes, this witch had him wrapped around her bony finger, and it felt like the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

END


End file.
